Washed Ashore
by anonythemouse
Summary: When Brittany Pierce washed up on a small island after falling overboard her ship during a storm, she didn't expect to be saved by the island's lone inhabitant, an olive-skinned beauty with a mysterious and dark past that intrigued Brittany more and more with each passing moment spent in the spirited girl's company.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, everyone!  
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**This, like my first two stories, is a period piece. So, again, it's AU, and if historical stories don't really do it for you, then this is not the story for you.  
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**I'm trying something a little different this time. The story is set in a much earlier time, not in the USA, and Brittany and Santana meet right away. BUT, it will still take a while for them to get 'together' because I do love me some slow Brittana build-up ;)**

**Oh, and just like _A Dangerous Masquerade_, while this story is AU, it is also PU (Parallel Universe) in that homosexuality is as 'normal' and accepted as heterosexuality. It is _not_ taboo, forbidden, illegal, etc, etc. If you are interested in how, in my universe, this is possible, please read the A/N for the first chapter of _A Dangerous Masquerade_ because I don't want to be redundant and do it again here. And also just like _ADM_, the rest of history will be the same; only the acceptance of homosexual people will be different from reality.  
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**Anywho, that's all I got for right now. I hope you guys like this first chapter! :)**

* * *

_The Isle of May, off the Firth of Forth_

_Scotland, March 1543_

Santana poked at the corpse with a stick and slowly backed away.

Her unbound raven hair, already soaked from the driving rain, whipped across her eyes when she leaned in to look closer.

The Highlander appeared to be dead, but she couldn't be sure. Long blonde hair lay matted across the woman's face. Santana looked at the high leather boots, darkened by the salt water. The blonde girl was wearing a torn shirt that once must have been white. A broad expanse of plaid, pinned at one shoulder by a silver brooch, trailed into the tidal pool. From the thick belt that held her kilt in place, a sheathed dirk banged against a pale, exposed thigh.

A dozen seals watched Santana from the deep water beyond the surf.

With the storm growing increasingly wilder, she stood indecisively over the body. In all the years she had been on the island, she had never seen a human wash up before. Certainly, there had been wrecks in the storms that swept in across the open water, and Auld Emma and Garth used to find all kinds of things—some valuable and some worthless—cast up on the shores. Never, though, had there been another person—at least, not since the aging husband and wife had found Santana herself eleven years earlier.

Santana pushed aside those thoughts now and crouched beside the girl, placing a hand hesitantly above her breast. A faint pounding beneath the shirt was the answer to her prayers…and her fears. She didn't want anyone intruding on her island and in her life. At the same time, she could not allow a living thing to die when she could save it. Or, rather, her.

The surf crashed over the ring of rock that formed the tidal pool, and the young olive-skinned woman pushed herself to her feet. She drew the leather cloak up to shield her face from the stinging spray of wind-driven brine. When she looked back at the body, the wave had pushed the Highlander deeper into the pool, immersing her face.

Santana immediately dropped her stick and lifted the blonde girl's face out of the water. Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed a flat rock at the far side of the pool. It sat higher than the tide generally rose. Rolling her forward slightly, Santana held the unconscious Highlander under the arms just as another wave crested the pool's rim. The surge of water lifted the body, and Santana quickly dragged her through the water toward the rock.

She was heavier than Santana thought she would be. Out of breath, she finally succeeded in getting the blonde partially anchored on the rock.

Auld Emma had once told Santana that they had found her nearly drowned in this same tidal pool. The thought of that now flickered in her mind. She tried to recall the storm and ship and the day, but those memories had long ago faded into nightmares. Now it was all buried too deeply within her to recollect. She wondered if it had been a day like this one, dark and violent.

The dirk at the Highlander's side caught her eye, snapping her out of her forlorn thoughts. Santana reached down quickly, yanked the weapon from its sheath, and tucked it into her own belt.

The wind was howling, and the salt spray was stinging her face. Santana looked out at the frothy, gray-green sea, hoping to see some boat searching for the Highlander lying unconscious beside her.

If they came, she wouldn't let herself be seen, though. She wanted no news of her presence to be carried to the mainland.

She had been only six years old when the ship had sunk and she had washed ashore. But the little that she allowed herself to remember from the time before that day was too painful. Santana had no desire to face that horrifying past ever again. There was no place else that she ever wanted to be but here. This island was the only home she had left.

For eleven years the reclusive couple had kept her existence a secret. And now, with both of them passed on, she could only pray to continue her life as she had before, undisturbed and unnoticed.

Her plan was the same as the one she had followed dozens of times since washing up on the island. Whenever there was a chance of a fishing boat or some pilgrims coming ashore, Garth and Emma would trundle Santana off with plenty of food and blankets to the caves on the western shore of the island. She would remain there in safety until all was well and the visitors were gone.

The only difference now was that she would have to use her own judgment about when it would be safe to come back out.

Ready to push herself to her feet, Santana felt a tinge of curiosity that made her reach out and push the Highlander's wet, matted hair out of her face. Instantly she was sorry for the action, for the woman's features took her by surprise. Even unconscious, or perhaps because of it, she was an extremely beautiful woman. A high forehead, a straight nose, a thin but shapely mouth, an angular jaw.

Without thinking, Santana slowly, as though mesmerized, raised her left hand and softly traced the contours of the blonde's face with the tips of her fingers. She had a face not even marred by scars…yet. Only a few scratches and bruises from her time in the surf. It wasn't until her fingers brushed ever-so-gently against the blonde's bottom lip, sending a peculiar jolt up her arm and into her heart, that Santana realized what she was doing and jerked her hand away from the Highlander's striking face.

Angry at herself for allow herself to be distracted, Santana started to get to her feet, but one foot slipped, and she had to brace a hand on the blonde's chest to catch herself.

The Highlander's eyes immediately opened, and Santana's breath knotted tightly in her chest. Blue eyes the color of a winter sky stared at her from beneath long dark lashes flecked with gold. Santana didn't blink. She didn't move. Holding her breath, she remained still, staring into the Highlander's eyes for the eternity of a moment until the blonde closed them again.

Santana edged off the rock and ran as fast and as far as her legs would take her.

* * *

The taste in Brittany Pierce's mouth was foul as a dried-up chamber bucket.

Rolling onto her side, she felt her stomach heave. She tried to push herself up, but she couldn't see anything. As she turned, Brittany's hand slipped off cold wet rock, and she tumbled into a shallow pool of water, banging her ribs hard on the stone as she fell.

"Blasted hell," she groaned, pushing herself onto her knees. Holding her head, the blonde blinked a few times, trying to clean the sand and salt out of her eyes.

Rocks. More rocks. And water. And bobbing heads? Brittany pushed back a long, twisted lock of hair that had fallen across her face, obstructing her vision. She tried to focus on the creatures moving on the rocks.

Seals—a dozen or so—were staring at her from the rocks rimming the pool and from the sea beyond. Their brown eyes were dark and watchful. The image of a stunning brunette woman's face immediately flashed before her mind, and she struggled to push herself to her feet. A couple of seals barked a warning to those on shore.

"H-hello!" she called out, only to have the surf and the wind slap the greeting back into her face.

Her entire body ached. It had taken great effort to get the words out past her raw, scratched throat, but Brittany tried again. She was certain that someone had been there only moments before. Or was it hours?

"Hello!"

This time the shriek of seabirds was her only answer. Taking in a painful half breath, she tried to move her feet in the shallow pool. They moved, although it felt as if they were made of lead. Brittany succeeded in taking only three steps before she had to sit down on the edge of a rock. The world was spinning around in her head like a whirlpool.

Water. Rocks. And on each side of the protected tidal pool, rock-studded banks dotted with occasional patches of sea grass sloped upward from the turbulent sea.

The Pierce ship had been sailing north when the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It shouldn't have been unexpected, though. The Firth of Forth was famous for its foul and quickly changing moods and was often the inspiration behind many Scottish and English poems and songs.

_Well,_ Brittany thought as she looked out over the sea and then turned to take in her surroundings once more, _at least I have washed ashore…wherever I am._

The last clear memory that Brittany had was of shoving one of the sailors to safety in the aft passageway. The lad was nearly unconscious after being slammed against the ship's gunwales as the great vessel had continued to heel before the tempestuous blast of wind.

The storm had come on fast and hard, but they had been riding it well. Brittany and Quinn, her eldest sister, had been standing with the second mate at the tiller when the younger blonde had seen the young man go down. The sea sweeping across the deck had nearly carried the lad overboard.

Brittany fought the urge to be ill. The foul, salty taste rose again into her mouth, at the memory of what had happened next.

The boy had no sooner been secured when Brittany had heard the cries of the lookout above. The dark shape of land appeared, not an arrowshot to port. And then the ship's keel had struck the sandbar.

She remembered being bounced hard across the deck, only to have the sea lift her before plunging her deep into the brine. After a lifetime of thrashing in the dark waters, she had finally sputtered to the surface. Al she had heard then was the howling shriek of wind before another crashing wall of water drove her under again. Somehow she had survived it all, although she had not the faintest idea _how_.

Brittany stared again at a seal, who was watching her intently. For an insane moment, thoughts of legends told by sailors clouded her reason, making her wonder if the seals had brought her there only for her to die, like the irresistible Sirens in the ancient Greek legend of Odysseus.

A gust of cold wind blasting mercilessly across the stormy water instantly sobered her, snapping the Highlander out of her fantastical musings. She was soaked through and chilled to the bone. Brittany managed to push herself to her feet and climb out of the tidal pool.

Another image of dark eyes gazing down at her flashed through her mind. The eyes of a young woman. Brittany remembered more now. Someone pulling her through the water. Propping her on the rock. The raven-haired beauty had been no apparition. Brittany braced herself against the wind and let her gaze sweep over her surroundings again.

"Where are you?" she shouted over the wind. There was not a boat or person, not even a tree in sight, and the rising slope of rocky ground straight ahead hampered Brittany's vision of what lay beyond.

"And where am _I?_" she muttered to herself.

The Pierce ship had been too far north for her to wash ashore on English soil. The storm could not have driven them as far east as the continent. This had to be Scotland.

Brittany knew that she could die of the cold once night fell. She had to determine her whereabouts and find a protected place to wait out the storm.

She looked around again at her surroundings, and she couldn't shake the sensation that she was being watched. And she didn't think that it was just the seals. There was no one else in sight, though. Brittany's hand reached for the dirk she always kept at her belt, but found that it was missing. She picked up a solid branch of driftwood and started up the slope.

Her trek was slow, but the distance was short. Upon reaching the crest of the brae, Brittany sat on a boulder jutting through the long grass. One look and she recognized the place.

Brittany Pierce had grown up sailing aboard ships. Standing on the stern deck beside her grandfather, her uncle, and lately her older sister, she had covered this coast many times over the years. Brittany was familiar with every port, every inlet, every island from the Shetlands to Dover in the east, and from Stornoway to Cornwall in the west. She had sailed from Mull to France and back again a dozen times. And she knew the history of this Scottish coast as well as she knew her clan's name.

She was on May, a small island east of the Firth of Forth. It was well known to sailors as a graveyard for errant ships. Many vessels, passing too close to the jagged rocks above and beneath the surface, had met their end along its western shore. And the sandbars to the east were just as deadly. A hill, the highest point, rose up almost at the center of the island. To the west sharp bluffs dropped off to the sea. To her right the blonde could see the sloping stretches of rock and sea grass that ended at the water. To her left, the low walls and the five or six ruined buildings of an abandoned priory.

Knowing where she was eased Brittany's mind a great deal. She was safe here, and it was only a matter of time before Quinn would turn her ship around and come looking for the taller blonde.

The wind at her back cut through her wet clothing, and she shivered as she pushed on. It was said that the island had once been a destination for religious pilgrims, drawing many across the water year after year. The priory, built centuries ago, had been dedicated to Saint Adrian, who had been murdered here by marauding Danes in the dark time.

As Brittany made her way toward the buildings, she recalled hearing that the monks had deserted the island before her grandfather's time. Only an old man and his wife lived out here now, feeding the occasional pilgrims and lighting a large fire during storms to warn the ships off.

Brittany didn't remember seeing any fire in her one brief glimpse of the island before being swept overboard. But she didn't believe the face she had seen—a face already permanently etched into her mind—had been elderly, either.

Brittany fought off the fatigue that was gathering around her like a fog, and approached the stone buildings of the old priory. To her right she saw a protected hollow where a small flock of sheep huddled together out of the wind. Ahead, she couldn't tell which of the decrepit buildings might have housed the couple.

"Hello!" At her shout the animals shuffled about and bleated loudly. Brittany wished she knew something more about the keeper and his wife—even a name would have been a good place to start. No one was showing themselves, and the gray stone buildings showed no sign of anyone's living inside of them.

Crossing a moor of knee-high grass, Brittany found herself on a path of sorts that led past a little patch of land protected from the wet wind by a grove of short, wind-stunted pines. The remains of what looked to be last year's gardens affirmed that the couple still lived on the island.

It wasn't until she was past the first line of buildings that the Highlander saw wisps of smoke being whipped from a recently built chimney above a squat, two-story building. As Brittany drew near, her excitement grew at the tidy condition of the protected yard.

"Is there anyone here?" Brittany called up the set of ancient stairs that lay beyond the door.

The lack of an answer didn't deter the blonde. The wind was howling behind her—perhaps her voice was simply lost on the wind. The steps had been swept recently. A large pile of gnarled driftwood was stacked neatly at the foot of the stairs. Brittany drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs. Reaching the upper floor, she saw the glowing embers in the hearth at the end of the room.

Someone _had_ to be around, but the fact that they still weren't showing themselves didn't make her feel particularly comfortable.

"I intend no harm," she said loudly with every ounce of sincerity she had, eyeing the slabs of smoked fish and the long, looping strands of shells hanging from the low rafters. The blonde's gaze swept every dark corner and crevice. The dim light coming in through the narrow slits in the walls added to the faint light from the hearth, but did little to help brighten the room. "I was swept off my ship in the storm," she continued, as though the inhabitants merely needed more explanation before they came forward.

Brittany stepped cautiously into the room. A torn net—half-mended—lay by a small, carefully stacked pile of bleached whale bones. Something crunched beneath her boots and she looked down. All around the room, seashells of every size and description could be seen, and a small hill of them sat on a sheepskin in the corner, beside a small loom.

The fire crackled and sparked in the hearth, drawing Brittany's attention again. She noticed the cauldron hanging over the fire. Someone's dinner. "I think someone…perhaps 'twas you…pulled me out."

One thing that the blonde remembered hearing about the old couple who lived on the island was that they had never been particularly hospitable. But they had also not been afraid of the fishermen or sailors who ended up on their shores.

"My people will be back for me soon." She spoke louder this time, eyeing the ladder resting against a wall. Near it, a line of dark boards across the beams created a loft area above. "I need to borrow a blanket…maybe some food…and I'll repay you for it."

She climbed the ladder and peered into the darkness of the large open space above. The room appeared to be used for storage.

"Hello," she called out once more. There was no one up there.

Brittany climbed back down the ladder and looked out the narrow slit of a window at the sea. The storm was still blowing hard, and she could barely see past the shoreline. She could only imagine how upset Quinn would be right now. But there was no coming after Brittany this night or in this weather.

Unwilling to put the missing and quite possibly frightened inhabitants out of their home, Brittany resigned herself to spending the night outside. She reached for a thick woolen blanket that sat on a shelf beside the hearth. As she picked it up, something that had been folded within the blanket fell onto the floor. She crouched down and stared at a small bundle of mending at her feet. The intricate lace edging on a child's white cap caught her attention first. Brittany touched the soft wool cloth of a dress. Perplexed, she frowned at a child's linen apron and again at the cap she had seen first. Brittany picked up the items one by one and looked at them intently, wondering why two elderly people would keep such things.

The blonde looked about the room again. There was one wooden bowl near the hearth—one spoon. On the floor in one corner, there was a small bed of straw and blankets suitable for one person. She touched the dress again. The dark, mesmerizing eyes of a woman looking down at her flashed though her mind again. Brittany carefully wrapped the bundle of child's clothing in the blanket and put it back where she had found it.

Rising to her feet, Brittany picked up a more worn woolen blanket that she saw folded by the bed and draped it over her shoulders. With one more glance around, she descended the stairs and pushed out into the storm.

* * *

Added to the shivering that had taken control of Santana's limbs, her teeth were now clattering and she could not stop it. Her clothes were soaked through from her efforts to get the blonde woman out of the tidal pool. Her olive skin was clammy, and she was feeling chilled to the bone. The leather cloak offered some protection against the bitter wind-driven rain, but her body seemed unable to produce any warmth as she lay flat out on her stomach on the rocks to the west of the prior.

Santana's eyes narrowed as the Highlander finally came out of her house.

She had hoped to go inside and get a blanket or two and some food before fleeing to the caves on the western side of the island. In fact, it was much more than a hope, she corrected. She _had_ to get some supplies before retreating there. Who knew how long the storm surges would require her to stay hidden, or how many days it would be before the Highlander's people would return?

Night was quickly dropping its dark cloak over the island. The storm, though, seemed to have shaken off its leash. It was now hammering the island with ten times the fury it had before. A freezing rain had been falling in fits and spurts. It was not a night to be out.

The blonde was making a fire. Santana saw her walk back toward her house a couple of times. Each time the Highlander came back carrying armfuls of dry seaweed and driftwood that Santana had diligently gathered, she felt herself growing angrier. And if this wasn't enough, the blonde was building her fire within the area protected by the priory walls.

A standing stone wall served as a windbreak. The location kept away the rain. There she was, safe and warm. But there was also no chance of any passing ship seeing her fire.

And what was worse, she was building it where Santana could not possibly get inside her house without being seen by the tall blonde stranger.

Santana should have left her to swallow more seawater.

* * *

The sparking flames, hissing and crackling, climbed high into the night. Brittany's clothes were practically dry now. Her plaid, with the added layer from the blanket she had borrowed from the house, was keeping the worst of the rain off of her.

She was surprised to find that she was even growing hungry. Brittany considered for a moment the food she had seen in the prior building. On the one hand, she had already imposed upon the inhabitants of the building enough, but on the other, she didn't know when she would be able to get food again. Brittany stared at the flames wondering what she should do for a few minutes, until the growling of her stomach decided for her. Making one last trip, she entered the small building and approached the hearth, picking up the wooden spoon. She used the spoon to move the still-simmering cauldron off the fire and dipped it into the stew. One mouthful of the thick, bitter-tasting brew, though, and her stomach wrenched. Brittany ran outside, gulping down drafts of fresh salt air to keep her insides from spilling out.

Her appetite was gone now, most likely for good, and she returned to the fire. Even as she walked, Brittany could feel the eyes of someone watching her from the darkness. She settled by the wall for the night and thought about the old stories of seals who became women.

* * *

Santana started abruptly. She didn't know how long she had been lying on the cold rocks. It was still night, and the storm was continuing unabated. Her limbs were stiff and numb. The chattering of her teeth was like thunder rolling painfully through her head. At some point, she thought, she must have fallen asleep. But she wasn't sure when.

Lifting her head off the rock required and effort that surprised her. She pulled the hood of the leather cloak back so she could see. The sleety rain continued to pelt her, but the Highlander's fire was still burning below. In the circle of light around it, she could see the blonde's sleeping form tucked snugly against the wall. The Highlander must be quite comfortable with _her_ blanket wrapped around her pale body.

Santana glanced at the door of her house and back again at the Highlander. The light from the fire didn't quite reach the entrance of the building. The blonde seemed to have gone to sleep with her back to it, anyway.

The brunette's first attempt at pushing herself to her feet was rejected by her stiff, half-frozen muscles, but her second effort was more successful. Carefully picking her way through the boulders, Santana descended, praying that her chattering teeth wouldn't alert the slumbering blonde woman.

There were other things that she had to be concerned with besides the storm. Santana recalled Auld Emma's warnings about sailors and fishermen…about all strangers. She said that with the exception of herself and Garth, there was not a single person who might come to the island that Santana could trust. The old woman had been blunt about it. And she had continued to preach the lesson even on her deathbed.

_If the filthy dogs find a young and bonny thing like ye on this deserted island, they'll all be thinking the same thing, lassie. They'll knock each other down, racing to see which one of them can lay his hand on ye first. But do not let them touch ye, Santana. Ye fight them, child, ye hear? Better yet, go and hide and do not let any of them see ye in the first place._

Auld Emma had been talking particularly about the men that may come ashore the island, but Santana wasn't about to let her guard down just because this Highlander happened to be a woman. In fact, she was even more wary of the stranger _because_ she was a woman. The blonde must be dangerous if she were accustomed to carrying a dirk and going about in men's clothing.

Santana circled around, staying in the shadows and crouching as she moved silently along the low stone wall that surrounded the ruins of the priory. All the while, she kept an eye on the blonde's sleeping form as she considered what she needed to take.

The door creaked a little as she pushed it open. Santana looked back toward the Highlander. She hadn't stirred.

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, Santana stood in the dark and took off the dripping cloak. Feeling for the familiar peg, she hung her cloak and turned toward the steps. After so many hours in the cold, her knees protested as she tried to climb the stairs, but she pressed herself on anyway.

Food. Dry clothes. Blankets. Flints. She wondered if the pile of seaweed and driftwood she had gathered and stored in one of the caves a year ago would still be there. When she reached the landing, Santana saw that there was some red glow left of the dying fire in the hearth. The cauldron was hanging where she had left it.

There was nothing that Santana wanted to do more than dry and warm herself first. In her rush to get to the fire, though, she slipped and nearly fell on some seashells that the Highlander must have moved. Quickly regaining her balance, Santana made her way more cautiously across the room.

The heat from the embers felt heavenly after her hours in the bitter wet and cold. She crouched on the hearth and added some dried seaweed and a couple of small pieces of driftwood that were nearby. While she waited for the fire to kindle and come to life, she pressed her hands to the sides of the cauldron and almost sighed aloud with pleasure from its warmth.

"I wouldn't eat any of that, if I were you."

* * *

**A/N: So, there it is. I hope you guys liked it!**

**Oh! And in case there are any Scottish people reading this, please forgive some of the liberties I am taking with this story. I know that women did not wear kilts, but I figured, if Brittany's a sailor and everything, she would probably dress the part. Right? :) Also, I'm sorry if I get anything wrong. 16th century Scotland is not really my area of expertise, but I'm going to try to be as historically accurate as I can. Thanks! :)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Greetings, readers! :)**

**Thanks _so_ much to everyone who has alerted/favorited/reviewed/etc so far! Seriously, I've never gotten so many e-mails in such a short amount of time from this site for a story, lol. Although, updating my other story the same day also helped, haha ;)  
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**Anyway, reviewers to whom I couldn't respond:  
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**_Heyaismylife _- Thanks for the review! I'm really glad that you are liking it so far :D Don't worry, Brittana will have a bit of time together before Quinn shows up, but you know, not without the plot being thickened! ;) Hehe, anywho, thanks again for the review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)  
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**_BetTheDuckisInTheHat_ - Thanks for the review! I'm glad you are enjoying it so far and that this chapter doesn't disappoint! :)  
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**This chapter is dedicated to _imjustagirl2004_ because she was the first to alert, favorite, AND review this story. Triple whammy, lol. ;)  
**

**Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D**

* * *

The raven haired woman sprang to her feet and whirled around with the quickness and agility of a cat. Brittany stared at her own dagger, drawn and ready in the other woman's hand.

"I believe that dirk belongs to me," the Highlander stated calmly, not the list bit afraid of the shorter woman standing in front of her, brandishing her dirk.

She waved the weapon at the blonde in a motion that Brittany understood meant that the brunette wanted her to move away from the landing. Brittany didn't move. She didn't want the other woman any more frightened than she already was, but Brittany was about as far away as she could get. The Highlander had come in behind her just in time to see her slip on some of the seashells that cluttered the room. The brunette had been lucky not to crack her head.

"Why don't you put that weapon down," Brittany suggested as she leaned casually against the wall, her voice still calm.

Brittany watched as the shorter woman raised her elbow a fraction, as though ready to strike, and took a step toward the stairs.

Brittany tore her gaze away from the dagger and studied the rest of the other woman. She was the same woman whom the blonde had seen by the tidal pool. The same deep, dark eyes sparkled in the growing firelight. Her angular face, which previously was free from any hint of imperfection, was stained with streaks of dirt, although no less beautiful, Brittany could admit. In the dim light of the room, all Brittany could really see was that the brunette was young, possibly even close to the blonde's own eighteen years. Her long, dark hair was soaked, and a loose braid lay on her back like a thick rope. The woolen dress that she had no doubt spun and woven and sewn herself was also dripping wet. Even still, Brittany could not tear her gaze away from the stunning brunette.

Taken aback by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the mere sight of the shorter woman, Brittany mentally chastised herself for becoming distracted from the situation at hand and reassessed the woman before her. The brunette was a bit of a wee thing, all in all, and Brittany knew that she could overpower her if she really wanted to. But despite the show of bravery, the olive-skinned beauty was shivering and paler than her complexion should allow. Brittany frowned, knowing that because of her the other woman had been forced to stay outside.

"I had no intention of frightening you," the Highlander stated softly, raising both of her hands so that the brunette could see that she was not armed. As the raven-haired islander continued to inch toward the steps, Brittany could see that she wasn't too steady on her feet. The blonde straightened from the wall, concerned about the brunette's wellbeing. The continuing storm was whistling in through the slits of the windows.

"Listen, you rescued me yourself. You know that I was washed ashore. Alone," she emphasized, as though that alone would reassure the shorter woman that she was safe. Brittany watched the brunette shiver and sway on her feet, and continued, keeping her voice soft and gentle, "You'll catch your death in this weather, dressed in those wet clothes."

Suddenly, islander's foot went out from beneath her as she slipped again on the same damn shells, and Brittany rushed from her spot to help her up. Before she could lend a hand to her, however, the brunette rolled to her side and slashed at the blond with the dirk.

"Bloody hell!" Brittany cursed, glancing down at the torn sleeve of her shirt where the dagger had sliced through. The fallen woman had barely missed cutting the blonde's flesh. She was more surprised than angry, but she was beginning to become frustrated that the brunette didn't seem to want to listen to her. "I told you that I mean you no harm," Brittany tried to reason again, her tone strained.

The bonny islander was struggling to her feet, but Brittany was through trying to help her since it was clear she wouldn't accept any aid. Taking one quick step, Brittany kicked the dagger out of her hand. The weapon clattered loudly against the stone wall.

"But you cannot expect me to take it kindly when someone steals my dirk and uses it against me," she said as she grabbed the back of the brunette's dress and yanked her slight frame to her feet. She was lighter than Brittany had originally believed. The Highlander turned her around in her arms so that she could take a better look at her face and try to figure out what was going on. The smaller woman had not spoken a single word the entire time. Maybe she didn't understand what Brittany was saying. Deciding that they had just gotten off on the wrong foot, Brittany tried a different approach. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning, lass," she spoke warmly to the brunette as she gazed in the dark pools of her eyes, feeling as though she could easily be engulfed by their depth.

She kicked the blonde in the shin.

"By the devil!" Brittany hissed, but tightened her grip on the other woman's shoulder. "I told you—"

The feisty islander delivered a glancing jab to Brittany's face and tried to push away from her. Angry now, Brittany twisted one of the brunette's arms behind her and pulled her firmly against her own lithe body. The dark eyes were spitting fire at her, and she looked as though she would bite Brittany if she got the chance.

Brittany sighed, tamping down on her temper, and spoke gently once more, hoping to calm the fiery brunette at least a wee bit. "Now, listen, I don't know what has you so—"

Her knee connected solidly and viciously with the Highlander's supple abdomen. Gasping for breath, the force of the blow caused Brittany to release the diminutive woman.

While Brittany caught her breath, she saw the islander dash down the steps and heard the door bang open. Suddenly Brittany had lost all interest in going after her. That lass was a witch, a devil, a _madwoman_.

Nonetheless, the brunette had managed to drag her out of the water, and Brittany felt a pang of guilt wash over her. No matter how the brunette had just treated her, she couldn't in good conscience allow her to brave the bitter storm alone, especially in her weakened state. The Highlander wouldn't forgive herself if she didn't try to do _something _to aid the olive-skinned lass.

Grimacing with pain and clutching her stomach, Brittany forced herself upright and took a step. Descending the stairs was slow-going, as she had to stop every few steps in order to keep the bile from rising in her throat when her tender middle was jostled with her movements. When she finally reached the landing, Brittany spotted the leather cloak that still hung on a peg. This was the same one the brunette had been wearing when the Highlander had first seen her.

When Brittany stepped outside, she glanced over to her makeshift shelter by the prior wall. Her fire was starting to burn lower, but the bundle of blankets was still against the wall. The storm continued to lash at the island, and Brittany braced herself against the harsh wind. Brittany let her gaze roam over the ruined buildings and the hills around her. To her left, she saw a dark shadow move quickly over the crest of a hill.

"Wait!" She shouted, setting out after the brunette. _The fool!_ she thought, certain that there were no more buildings on the island. Cold and wet as she already was, and without any kind of shelter, the bonny islander would surely catch her death staying the night out in this weather.

Reaching the top of the hill where she had seen her last, Brittany stared in frustration at the wild and foreign terrain around her. The sound of the storm was matched only by the loud crashing of the surf in the distance. The sleet was stinging her face and she could see very little. Brittany had no idea where the other woman had disappeared to.

"By Saint Andrew, I told you I meant no harm!" she shouted into the night desperately.

Still, Brittany was not ready to give up, even though she couldn't see much beyond her next step. The ground was shiny from the rain. Jumping down from a ledge of stone, Brittany pushed on.

The girl had to be the daughter of the reclusive husband and wife Brittany had heard about. But she recalled hearing that they were very old. The lovely brunette was so young it didn't seem possible for her to have been their child. And then there was the mending Brittany found in the room—the young child's dress and cap. Her curiosity was definitely piqued.

Brittany had no fear of getting lost. She could see the light of her fire reflecting on the walls of the prior buildings. What she needed to be careful of, however, were the bluffs to the west. One missed step there, and she would drop fifty feet into the surf and rocks.

And something told her that her bonny hostess would probably not pull her out again.

Brittany stumbled on a mound of stone and shells. Coming to an abrupt stop, she peered down. Right before her, there were actually two mounds, side by side. Crouching before them, Brittany could see a carefully arranged blanket of shells with large smooth stones piled on top.

Graves. Two of them.

Well, at least Brittany knew where the old couple had ended up.

* * *

As Santana worked her way out along the cliff, the wind buffeting the rocks nearly knocked her from the narrow ledge a half dozen times. As she inched across a particularly narrow ledge, her foot slipped on an icy spot. Santana clawed desperately at the slick rocks, managing somehow to stop herself from falling into the frothy sea. A few moments later she had made it to her destination, only to realize that it was all for naught.

The tide was too high. She had never seen the water up so far on the cliff face. The waves were crashing in above the opening to her cave. The footpath on the side of the opening was completely submerged. It was no good; she couldn't get in.

If she had been able to get inside, she knew the honeycomb of caves well. Inside, some of the underground passages climbed upward. Even at the highest surges, there were dry places where she could take shelter. She would be safe.

Desperate to get out of harm's way, Santana considered jumping into the sea and trying to swim in. On many of the lower caves, she had seen the seals forever playing their games and riding the surf into the caverns. But the waves were crashing so violently against the side of the cliffs that she knew the chances of her surviving such a plunge would be very slim.

Resignedly, Santana turned and started clambering back up the rocks the way she came. She was thankful that her miserable physical condition had not affected her state of mind. Banging her head against the rocks or having her body drawn out to sea by the tide was no solution to her predicament. Fighting with the Highlander had given her a temporary surge of strength, but as she finally climbed up over the ledge, she knew she had nothing more left.

The blonde said that she meant no harm. But Emma had warned her about the lies, too.

The stranger was bigger. She was stronger. She was quicker.

She was a Highlander.

That alone gave Santana reason enough to distrust her.

Exhausted, the brunette was barely able to lower herself into a cleft between two rocks. She was still exposed to the sleet and the rain, but at least she was protected from the wind.

* * *

Brittany waited for the first light of dawn to brighten the sky before going out searching for her again. Other than finding the graves, no good had come out of the blonde's last attempt. But this time she was determined to find the feisty islander and bring her back. It had been near freezing last night. Brittany hoped she was still alive, though the Highlander was surprised and perplexed that her heart constricted at the thought of something happening to the brunette. Quickly shaking off the feeling, Brittany scanned her surroundings, gauging the weather.

The sleeting rain had stopped, but charred gray clouds continued to lock out the sky. The wind, though, seemed to have picked up even more.

Brittany started out in the same direction she had seen the other woman go the night before. From there, she descended into a valley that cut the island in half, and climbed the next hill. It was the highest point on the island. Standing on top of it, Brittany now had an unobstructed view of everything, including the two piles of rock at either end known as North Ness and South Ness. Her blue eyes took in the turbulent sea to the horizon in every direction. There was no sign of a ship anywhere.

The Isle of May was much longer than it was wide. And Brittany had been right the night before: there were no other buildings. Very few trees even. No place where a stubborn lass could have taken shelter for the night. But she had to be somewhere.

Brittany tried to imagine what she would do in the islander's place. The answer was simple: she would have stayed put and heard the stranger out, not fought the stranger and fled.

Sighing in frustration, the blonde again focused her thoughts on where the brunette could possibly have gone. The east shore consisted of stony slopes descending gradually to the sea's edge. A tidal pool here and there hardly offered anywhere to hide and not much in the way of shelter. The west shore, on the other hand, offered a possibility. Brittany turned her steps in that direction.

Her hopes rose when she reached the high, rugged cliffs with their sharp ledges and deep crevices. Peering over the top, Brittany gazed down the rock face and watched the many seabirds sailing along the line of cliffs, wheeling and occasionally landing on the ledges. They sometimes would disappear from her view. If they were nesting here, Brittany guessed that there could be any number of caves in these rocks.

She could only hope that the islander had found someplace protected from the sleet and the cold during the night.

Brittany started moving northward along the cliffs, looking for a place to climb down safely.

Moments later, Brittany saw amid the distant rocks strands of hair dark as night whipping wildly in the wind. Brittany's heart sped up as she realized that the brunette had spent the entire night nearly exposed in the raging storm. She sent up a prayer for the other woman's safety as the blonde picked up her pace and hurried to the prone islander.

She was lying curled up tightly in a shallow cleft between two rocks. For one dreadful moment Brittany thought that she might be dead. Brittany quickly knelt beside her and pushed her long, thick hair to the side before placing a firm, but soft hand to the side of her throat. Her skin was icy cold, but Brittany's heart leapt in her chest when she could feel a faint pulse. Not wasting another moment, Brittany pulled her out of the hole and rolled the brunette into her pale arms. The islander mumbled something unintelligible and tried to push the blonde away.

"It's all right," Brittany mumbled, trying to calm the semi-conscious woman in her arms, her usual blunt tone taking on a softer timbre. "I'm taking you back to your house."

The brunette made another feeble attempt to push away from Brittany again, but she was clearly exhausted. She ceased her struggle and slumped limply against the Highlander. Lifting her in her arms, Brittany rose slowly to her feet.

"But I am warning you, lass. No more attacking me with my own weapon. No kicking. No fighting. No more attempts to overcome me, when I mean you know harm," Brittany told the islander sternly, although the blonde was more than slightly in awe of the raven-haired woman's spirit, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself. The islander was slight of build in comparison to the blonde, but Brittany had not forgotten the courage she had shown in facing the towering Highlander the previous night. "And no running away, either," she added, not wanting to have to go searching for the brunette once more, especially not if she became ill from her struggle last night.

She mumbled something again and tucked her hand inside Brittany's shirt, sending a shiver up the blonde's spine. Her fingers were like ice.

"I don't know how long we are going to be together like this, but you had better get used to having me around," Brittany murmured as she got used to the brunette's fingers on her bare skin.

Stirring slightly, the islander wrapped her arms tightly around Brittany's neck and pressed her face to the exposed skin of her neck, catching Brittany off guard. _Her cheek is as soft as cold silk,_ she found herself thinking, a strange warmth slowly flooding through her.

"And I'll do my best…to get used to you, too," she finished, tightening her arms around the brunette snuggled into her chest.

* * *

Santana tried to burrow deeper into the ground, but something was stopping her. The wind was stronger and colder. Something was pulling at her. She was so cold. She had to push herself in deeper to stay warm. It was right there, so near. She couldn't bear being separated from it, but she was being pulled away. She held on tighter.

"You need to let go, lass."

She shook her head. The soft words were spoken very close to her ear. It was a woman's voice. It was the Highlander's voice. Santana tried to bury herself deeper beneath the stones. She had to hide from the stranger.

"I cannot be much help with you wrapped around me like this," came the Highlander's amused voice.

_Wrapped around me. Wrapped around me._ Santana didn't know what she was talking about. She was wrapped around a piece of rock. An admittedly supple rock. She clutched more tightly. She was growing warmer. If she could just hold on tightly enough…

"Not that I'm complaining," the Highlander continued in the same tone. "But you're cold and wet and…and I suppose we need to get you out of these clothes before you come down with a fever of some kind."

_Wrapped around me._ The words were finally sinking in. Santana forced her eyes open and found herself looking at the soft, smooth muscles of a woman's neck. She lifted her head off a lean shoulder and looked into eyes the color of a turbulent blue sea. The blonde's face was so close to hers. Hazy and confused, Santana studied every aspect of her attractive face. At the same time, she became aware that her feet were not touching the ground. Her weight was being supported by a pair of strong arms. An unfamiliar warmth seeped through her, and her gaze fell on the blonde's pink mouth. A hint of a smile tugged at the thin lips.

"So, you've finally decided to come around," the Highlander teased, smirking slightly at the brunette in her arms.

"You…are _n-not_…g-getting me out of these c-c-clothes," Santana said through clattering teeth. She knew what sailors like this Highlander wanted, and she wasn't about to give it to her. Not willingly.

The blonde's expression sobered in an instant, all teasing gone from her striking face. "I'm afraid you have left me no choice."

Santana started struggling in the blonde's arms, her voice getting stronger, but no less broken due her shivering body. "L-let…me…g-go. Let…me…go!"

Immediately, the Highlander dropped her onto her bedding, extracting a sharp cry in return as she fell. Santana scowled up at her.

"You…didn't have…to drop me!" She huffed, rubbing her backside to ease the pain caused by her short fall. Separated from the blonde's warmth, Santana felt the chills again wash through her. The skin on her face was stiff. Her eyes felt puffy and dry. She tried to tug a blanket from beneath her and pull it over her, but her hands hardly responded. She could not move her fingers. She watched the Highlander move away from her to the hearth. Squatting, she started building a fire. Helpless in light of her useless limbs, Santana put her head down on the covering and pulled her knees to her chest. She was so tired. She felt like crying, but fought back the impulse. Now was not the time to break down, especially not in front of the intimidating, albeit bonny, blonde Highlander in front of her. Instead, Santana gathered her strength and spoke, trying in vain to control her shivering. "'Tis…c-cold in…h-here. 'Tis very…c-c-cold."

"You'll be warm soon," was all the blonde said in reply as she put another piece of wood on the fire. In a moment, the flames were napping and hissing, and the Highlander rose and turned, stepping toward her. She crouched down beside Santana and tucked the edges of the blanket around her legs, concern evident in her blue eyes. "I am glad that you at least understand what I am saying." The blonde's strong fingers started removing her roughly made shoes.

Santana was too weak to protest. As she pulled them off, Santana realized that she had no feeling in her toes. It must have been colder last night than she had previously believed.

"I am Brittany Pierce," the Highlander spoke, warmth present in her previously direct and somewhat cold voice. "Do you have a name?"

Santana could do nothing other than stare at her tan feet, mesmerized, as Brittany's lithe, slender hands cupped them. The blonde made quick work, softly yet firmly rubbing Santana's frigid feet. Santana sighed at the exquisite feel of Brittany's hands on her feet as she warmed them, and almost protested when the blonde released her feet when they were no longer cold to the touch.

"We'll worry about your name later," Brittany said once it was clear Santana was not going to answer. The blonde looked about the room. "We need to get you out of those wet clothes." She reached for another blanket that was lying at the foot of Santana's bedding and tucked it around the brunette's bare feet. "Do you think you can manage it by yourself?" the Highlander asked, and Santana could have sworn she noticed a faint coloring rise in the blonde's otherwise pale cheeks.

Santana nodded weakly. But the loud chatter of her teeth was making it impossible for her to peak clearly. "D-d-dry…clothes," she managed to choke out.

"Where?" The blonde looked about her and then followed the direction of Santana's gaze to the ladder and the opening above. She nodded when the blonde pointed to it.

Leaving her, Brittany crossed the room and climbed up through the hole to the area beneath eh roof.

Staring dully at her long legs as she disappeared into the eaves, Santana realized that she no longer feared her. The woman didn't have to come after her. She didn't have to bring her back. But she had. Santana managed to undo the laces of her dress in the front. Her fingers were clumsy and her skin actually hurt as she peeled away the soaked layers and crawled under the blanket. She felt the intense weariness again weighing her down. And it was so cold. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget about everything.

Pulling her knees tightly against her chest, she closed her eyes.

* * *

Thin shafts of light from a number of breaks in the roof cut through the dim haze. Crouching beside the opening she had climbed through, Brittany glanced about with bewilderment at the large open space. Yesterday she had thought it was just a room used for storage when she had peered in. Now it occurred to her that the loft was a veritable treasure trove…if one considered junk to be treasure.

But it was also the most organized midden she had ever laid eyes on.

Brittany couldn't stand up all the way beneath the low, sloping roof, and as she moved carefully in the dim light, she ducked under ropes that had been strung form one end wall to the other.

Hundreds of cast-off items, if not more, were stacked on the floor in orderly rows. A cracked flute. A rusted helmet of a design she had never seen. A pilgrim's bottle that looked usable. A mortar without a pestle. Some kind of clan banner with all the colors bleached out. A rusted chainmail shirt. Most looked like things that might have been washed ashore from sinking ships.

Brittany suddenly remembered the shivering young woman below and left her perusal of this room for another time.

Against one of the end walls, the blonde spied neatly folded piles of what looked to be ancient wool blankets beside a worn sea chest. A couple of moth-eaten woolen cloaks sat on the chest. Laying them aside, Brittany pushed open the large chest and stared.

On top, an ornately wrought golden cross, encrusted with bright jewels, caught her attention. The piece was magnificent. She picked it up and looked at it. The cross hung from a short gold chain. The length of it was suitable only for a child. Brittany remembered the pieces of mending she had seen downstairs before. Carefully replacing the cross, the blonde eyed a young girl's dainty shoes. Next to them lay two small combs. There were other items in the chest, although she still couldn't make any sense of it all, but her thoughts were once again drawn to the wet lass in the room beneath her. She left everything as she had found it and closed the chest.

Looking around, the Highlander spotted two woman's dresses hanging from a couple of pegs. Brittany grabbed for one of them and started for the ladder before pausing. Going back, she took a few of the woolen blankets and one of the cloaks, too.

The fire had taken the worst of the chill off the chamber by the time the blonde had descended.

"I hope this will do. 'Twas no easy task finding it up there amid the…" Her words trailed off. Wet clothes had been cast off beside the bed, and the young woman seemed to be sound asleep. She looked beautiful in the golden light of the fire. Snapping out of her slight trance, Brittany looked at the brunette's now only slightly shivering form and frowned. She was well aware of what too many hours in the cold could do to a person. Brittany stocked the hearth with more driftwood and moved again to the brunette's side. She laid her hand across the darker woman's forehead. She was still very cold, and her breathing struck Brittany as shallow and labored.

"You can put these other dress on yourself…whenever you are ready," she spoke softly, resisting the surprising urge to brush her lips across the brunette's temple. Brittany spread the extra blankets on top of her and placed the dry dress within her reach.

Brittany pushed the wet strands of hair out of her face and, for the first time, _really_ looked at her. Dark long lashes lay peacefully against radiant olive skin. The blonde gazed deeply at the perfect symmetry of eyes that she remembered were so large and dark. She had a straight nose and full lips. With her thick, dark waves of hair flowing down over her shoulders, Brittany could imagine that she would look like a mermaid. She was young and very beautiful, and Brittany couldn't understand for the life of her what the brunette was doing on this island.

Brittany saw her shiver again. Gently she reached out and stroked the smooth skin of her face to make certain that she was warming up. The brunette rolled onto her side and clasped her pale hand between her own tan ones and laid her cheek on it. The simple gesture made Brittany smile and her heart flutter wonderfully in her chest.

"I so wish I knew your name, lass," she breathed out longingly, reveling in the feel of her hand pressed firmly against the islander's cheek.

"So c-c-cold…" the brunette whispered weakly in her sleep, trying to tug Brittany's warm hand beneath the blanket.

Blue eyes widening, Brittany immediately disengaged her hand from the young woman and instead tucked the covers more tightly around her.

"I am a woman, my bonny islander, but there are limits even to a woman's restraint," she mumbled, her heart beating a fast-paced rhythm in her chest.

The brunette's shivering was getting worse instead of better, Brittany noticed suddenly. The Highlander leaned over and pushed her closer to the wall. Then, with a deep sigh of resignation, Brittany lay down on top of the blankets and nestled her right side against the brunette's front.

"I do not know if you'll get any heat from my body this way, but this is as much help as I am willing to be," Brittany said. She crossed her arms over her chest, wary of the strong temptation she had to wrap them around the brunette to lend the sleeping woman as much of her warmth as she could, and stared at the blackened ceiling above.

Then she tucked her cold nose into the crook of the blonde's neck, sending a delightful, though foreign, shiver straight to Brittany's heart, breaking her stubborn resolve.

Brittany rolled toward her and drew the bundled woman tightly to her somewhat larger frame, enveloping the islander in her warmth. Wrapped around the smaller woman, Brittany relaxed, listening to the brunette's uneven, though less ragged, breaths, and fitting herself even more closely to the sleeping woman, succumbed to sleep herself.

* * *

**A/N: Ooo, the attraction is there (like always, lol), but what will happen next? What about Quinn? Is she out there, searching for her sister already? Find out this and more next time!**

*****P.S. Important note for readers of _A Dangerous Masquerade_! I have received quite a few requests for an epilogue, and so have decided to write one. It's still in the formulation stages, but I am working on it. It should be a couple weeks or so before I can give you anything worth reading, though, so do please be patient. :) K, that's all*****

**Thanks for reading, and I'll be back with chapter 3 in a week! :D  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Greetings, readers!**

**Okay, I know I've been doing this a lot, but I'm really sorry I haven't gotten to answer everyone's reviews (those of you whom I can PM) yet. I'll have to do it here. Lightning struck the building in which I live, so I was without internet or air conditioning for a few days, which put a huge damper on my weekly schedule...No fun lol  
**

**So, reviews I didn't get to respond to:  
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**_Rtarara - _Thanks :) And oh, don't worry, Santana's true nature will be coming out very shortly ;) I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_RabbitSniper -_ Yay! I'm glad you're liking it so far! I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to your PM yet :/ This week has been a little bit crazy, lol. Anywho, haha, yeah...you know Santana. Always has to be so stubborn ;) But don't worry, things won't be like that all the time (or will they...? ;D) hehe! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D  
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**_Heyaismylife - _I'm really glad you're liking it already, and I hope you like this chapter (lots of Brittana interaction)! :) Oh, and thanks :) That's what I was thinking too when I got the idea for this sort of universe. I get so tired of seeing them have to hide or whatever all the time. I wanted a universe that was realistic yet allowed for me to focus on the plot and relationship as opposed to whether or not other people would accept them :) So, I'm thrilled you like this universe and my explanation for it! :D  
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**_wkgreen -_ Thanks for the review! And, haha, I know! Brittany and her Santana weakness ;) I hope you like this chapter!  
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**_Cathy77 - _Thanks! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! :)  
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**_DaDa - _Why thank you, that's very kind of you to say :D I'm so glad you like Brittany's character! Hopefully you'll like this chapter too! :)  
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**Okay, I think that's all for now...Enjoy! :D**

* * *

"She is alive. I _know it_," Quinn Pierce said curtly to the two sailors preparing to take the news of her youngest sister's mishap overland to the family at Benmore Castle. "You tell them that."

The ship, still buffeted by strong winds and stinging rain, strained at its anchor in Anstruther harbor on the Fife coast. They had been lucky when there had been a slight lull in the storm around midnight. Taking shelter in the barren, windswept harbor, Quinn had been striding across the deck all night, cursing the storm that was holding her hostage.

Just because her ship was trapped, though, the ship's captain was not about to sit idly by and do nothing to find her sister. Quinn had already sent off a dozen men on foot and horseback to the north and a dozen more to the south with directions to comb every beach and inlet from Fife Ness to Kincraig. But the area being searched was only a small stretch compared with the shoreline south of the Firth of Forth, and she would need more men to broaden the search. She would find her sister, no matter what.

As the two messengers dropped into the small boat that would take them to the shore and to waiting horses, one of the ship's mates spoke up to the small group gathered by the railing, his tone rallying and hopeful. "I, for one, have never seen a better swimmer than our Miss Brittany."

Quinn understood his words were said as much for her sake as for anyone else's.

"Aye," another sailor piped up. "That sea could easily have carried 'er all the way to Leith."

"Knowing how ready the lass was to be done with that lot at St. Andrews," an old tar added, "I'll wager she swam all the way to Dundee. Why, the young vixen's no doubt sitting in front of the fire at the Cock 'n' Crown right now, a cup o' ale in 'er hand and a lassie on 'er knee," the gruff man finished with a deep chuckle.

"Ye mean _both _knees," the other corrected. "The way the lassies throw themselves at the girl…" The sailor paused, shaking his head in wonder. "What young Miss Brittany says is right—why settle for one when ye can have 'em all?"

As the men laughed uneasily, Quinn looked out across the harbor at the storm-lashed sea. She wished that she could be so sure. She wished that she had Brittany with her now, that she knew her sister was safe.

Quinn's ship's mate laid a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find her, m'lady. 'Tis a sailor's lot to end his days in the sea, but Miss Brittany's time was not up. I'm certain of it," he mumbled, trying to help smooth the captain's worry, if only a little.

The ship's captain silently cursed the storm in frustration. Though she would continue to have her crew scour the shore, it would be much easier to sail up and down the coast in search of her sister.

Abruptly, Quinn turned on her heel away from her ship's mate. "While we are trapped on this barren harbor, I'm going ashore to join the search to the south. Send someone after me if you get any news from the others," she called resolutely over her shoulder, her tone leaving no room for argument from the sailor behind her.

"Aye, m'lady," he responded affirmatively, turning his attentions to the tasks that needed done on the ship.

As Quinn called for a boat, she tried to push back the nagging voice in her head that kept telling her that perhaps she was not doing enough. But then, maybe all of this was for nothing. Perhaps Brittany was indeed lost at sea.

_Nay, _she told herself. She wasn't ready to deal with such a possibility. Her sister had too much life in her—too much fight in her—to die like that.

* * *

Santana's first conscious thought was the realization that she was warm.

She snuggled into the familiar comfort of her bedding. The brunette let out a deep, contented breath. Warm and dry. She could hear the wind and rain against the walls, and the stormy sea in the distance. She would get up in a moment and see about getting something together to eat. Aye, the islander was hungry and thirsty. And she needed to relieve herself, badly. _Just a moment more_, she thought, stretching her muscles beneath the blanket, savoring the lovely warmth surrounding her.

Her legs bumped something solid.

Santana froze and her eyes flew open, too stunned even to breathe. Inches from her face she could see the mouth and chin of the sleeping Highlander. The two were both lying together on the narrow bedding! On _her_ bed! One of the blonde's lean, taut arms rested on her bare shoulder. Santana had been using the stranger's other arm as a pillow, and the brunette could feel the other woman's warm breath caressing her forehead.

_And I'm naked!_ Santana realized with a hot flash of panic. She didn't have to lift the blankets to know that she was bare to the skin.

The brunette moved her head only slightly to look down at the Highlander's body. From what she could see, the blonde was fully clothed and sleeping on top of the blanket.

Bits and pieces of a one-way conversation rattled around in her mind. The stranger seemed to talk quite a bit. Santana also remembered the blonde's being concerned about her. Aye, the Highlander had come after her. She had even carried her back here! And then Santana faintly recalled taking off her own wet, half-frozen clothing before falling asleep.

Falling asleep _naked._ Her entire body flushed crimson at the thought.

Santana glanced at the sleeping blonde again. But nothing happened. The taller woman was fully clothed even now. Layers of blankets separated them.

Santana stared at the woman's thin lips. _So near_, she thought, almost as though she were in a trance. Her long blonde hair covered part of her face as she slept, and the brunette resisted the sudden urge to swipe it away so she could get a better look at the Highlander's striking face. The stranger's shoulders were narrow but firmly set. Her strength was apparent even while sleeping. And still, Santana found she was not at all afraid of her.

Santana instantly knew that spending too many hours in the cold must have done some serious damage to her mind. She had to somehow escape this bed and dress herself before the Highlander…

Her stomach growled loudly.

Santana held her breath as the other woman mumbled about something called a Tubbington in her sleep. Before the brunette dared to move, the blonde's two pale arms wrapped around her like bands of steel, and she drew the islander tightly against her longer frame. Santana's head was tucked under the Highlander's chin, and she felt her body align perfectly with the other woman's.

Santana was ready to awaken her with a jab to the abdomen, but then the Highlander rolled onto her back and tucked the brunette into the crook of her arm. From this angle, Santana had a much better view of the room.

The fire in the hearth had burned down to red coals. The wind was whistling through the small windows, and she knew the storm was still continuing unabated. The light was dim in the large room, and Santana guessed that night was approaching again. She spotted her wet clothing in a pile near the hearth. Next to the Highlander's other shoulder, she caught sight of a dry dress the blonde must have brought down from the loft where Emma and Garth stored things. Santana had slept there as a child.

Ever so slowly, she stretched her arm over the slumbering blonde's chest and tried to get hold of the dress. She couldn't reach it. Waiting another moment and making sure the stranger's breathing was even, Santana lifted her body slightly and tried again to reach over the other woman's ample chest for the clothing.

Getting hold of it this time, Santana gathered the woolen dress in her fist and slowly started to disentangle herself from the blonde.

The Highlander released her, rolling slightly toward her. The brunette sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward when the blonde didn't wake up. Pressing back against the stone wall, Santana sat up and—as the blanket fell away—wrestled the dress hurriedly over her head.

By the time Santana knelt breathless on the bedding with the dress nearly covering her, she realized it was a miracle that the Highlander was continuing to sleep on like the dead.

* * *

After all the trouble the brunette had given her the day before, Brittany thought she certainly deserved a little entertainment. Watching the islander struggle to put on the dress was all that, Brittany thought, and more. The islander's skin was as smooth as polished ivory and looked as soft as a cloud.

The blonde made another mumbling sound, as if she were asleep, and turned onto her side.

Brittany had been trying to imagine the different possibilities of how someone like the brunette might have arrived on this island. From all accounts she could recall, the couple who lived here before were far too old to produce someone as young as this. So she was either brought here and abandoned, or she, too, had washed ashore. But when? And who was she? And who were her people? Brittany's mind was riddled with questions regarding the mysterious, and beautiful, islander.

The Highlander contemplated letting the other woman know that she was awake, but the sight that moved before her half-closed eyes stopped her. The brunette approached the hearth and quietly placed small pieces of driftwood on the fire.

Brittany's breath caught in her throat as the islander stood, stretching the muscles in her back. Her long hair, an unbound mass of waves and ringlets, hung nearly to her waist. The faintest flecks of gold reflected in her raven-colored tresses from the firelight crackling to life beside her. Brittany didn't know if she had ever seen a sight more breathtaking in all her years. Suddenly, the brunette cast a hesitant glance in the blonde's direction, and Brittany closed her eyes a little more.

A moment later, she opened them again and found the islander washing her face with water in a basin. From a leather pouch, she repeatedly filled a cup—a large shell, actually—and drank the water down.

Something about the Highlander drew her attention, for she lowered the cup and caught Brittany watching her. The blonde saw her entire body immediately go tense.

"Good morning. Or is it night?" Brittany greeted, adding in a yawn for extra measure to convince the brunette that she had just woken up.

"Morning…nay, 'tis night falling," the islander quickly corrected herself while cautiously laying the cup aside.

Brittany propped herself casually on one elbow, hopeful that she wouldn't feel threatened. "Did you sleep well?" she asked gently.

The brunette gave a curt nod in response and glanced nervously toward the door.

"You were so cold, and I was truly concerned that you would have caught a chill or fever after spending so many hours outside," Brittany continued, trying in vain to keep the other woman inside the building, as she sat up on the bedding. The brunette took a step toward the door.

"Please don't go," Brittany pleaded, surprised at how desperate her voice sounded. She had never been as intrigued by someone as she was by this olive-skinned islander.

The brunette's wary look shifted to the Highlander. From the narrow windows, Brittany could see that night had already spread its thick blanket across the island. The howl of the wind through the openings was indication enough that the brutal weather was continuing.

"I shall go, if you like," Brittany said quietly, dejectedly. She straightened the blankets around her and started pulling on the boots that she had taken off earlier in the day. They were still wet. "This is your house. You need not spend another night out in this storm," she told the brunette still inching towards the door. Brittany did not want to leave the mysterious islander's presence, but she would not allow the smaller woman to subject herself to another night exposed to the storm. The brunette would certainly catch an illness if she did so, and that thought filled Brittany with dread.

The islander glanced at her, then at the door, and without another word she started toward it with short, quick strides.

Brittany was on her feet and had put herself in the brunette's path in the next instant. "You do know that there is a storm still battering this island," she said shortly.

The other woman gave a small nod and tried to go around the blonde. Brittany blocked her path again.

"Don't you think I deserve an explanation?" She didn't give her a chance to answer. "By Saint Andrew, I am getting tired of this!"

"Of what?" the brunette asked in bewilderment.

Brittany held up an accusing finger at the other woman. "Don't give me that innocent look like you don't know what I am talking about. By now you know perfectly well that I can be trusted. How many sailors do you think sails these waters who would not have taken advantage of this situation?" she demanded, honestly offended at the brunette's treatment of her.

"What does the behavior of sailors have to do with my going out?" The islander had a very expressive face, and it was clearly showing her perplexity.

"What is your name?" Brittany blurted out abruptly, not even knowing herself why she had asked that particular question at this time. She just knew that she had been dying to know the olive-skinned beauty's name since she first laid eyes on her.

While Brittany was momentarily distracted by her own thoughts, the brunette successfully stepped around her. "I have to go," was all she said in response.

"Wait. We need to talk about this. Considering everything, we can both stay the night here, warm and dry, like two civilized people," Brittany tried to reason. She managed to put an arm in the doorway to block the other woman's path again. "I shan't bother you. You won't even know I'm there."

Obvious frustration creased the brunette's brown. "I _have_ to go outside," she repeated and then ducked under the blonde's arm.

"Wait!" Brittany shouted after her. As she turned to go after the retreating islander, more shells crunched under the soles of her boots. She cursed the annoying clutter the shorter woman seemed to live with.

The brunette was fast. But Brittany caught to the stubborn creature again halfway down the dark stairs. Before she could grab the islander by the elbow, she turned sharply to the blonde, her hands out to hold the taller woman off.

"Do not come after me," she snapped impatiently. "I told you, I have to go outside."

"But why?" Brittany asked, confusion flooding her mind. "I have already offered—"

"Look, I was brought up with the understanding that there are some things people _must_ do for themselves. _Outside._ Do I need to say any more?" She demanded, as though she were speaking to a small child.

Suddenly Brittany felt like a complete idiot, her face flushing bright red. "Ah. You could have explained this to me before."

The brunette simply shook her head and hurried down before Brittany could finish what she was saying.

"You _are_ coming back, aren't you?" she called out to the other woman, not expecting a response, and not getting one.

Brittany noticed that in her rush the islander didn't even stop to grab her cloak from the bottom of the stairs before going out. The blonde didn't move, though, wondering if this had been all a ruse and the headstrong woman was running across the island this very minute. Not that Brittany would stop her forcibly if she was determined to go hide. But it would be nice to know that her honorable conduct was somehow appreciated. It wasn't too much to ask the brunette to trust her until this storm was over, was it? Brittany was still waging this silent argument with herself when the door opened, and the islander blew in amid the wind and rain.

Her steps were much lighter, her attitude much less tense. She climbed up a couple of steps toward the blonde but then stopped.

"I guess 'twould be better," Brittany began, "if we started all over again."

The brunette continued to study her as if she was trying to make up her mind about whether it was really safe to come up the stairs or not.

"My name is Brittany Pierce," she announced, trying once again to ease the other woman's apprehension. "You found me yourself yesterday on the rocks."

Brittany realized that the islander's dark gaze was focused on the dirk that she had once again put back in its sheath at her belt. Brittany suddenly understood her fear. The brunette went down a step when Brittany's hand went to it.

"You can have this, if it makes you feel any better," Brittany stated gently. Even in the darkness of the stairwell, the blonde could see her watching her every movement as she took out the weapon and held the handle in the brunette's direction. "I will be appreciative, though, if you promise not to use it on me," Brittany finished, a wry smile slowly spreading across her face.

Brittany waited patiently while the islander studied her some more. "I will also be grateful if you decided to spare my clothes, as well. I know they are not in very fine shape, but they are all I have here, and, considering the weather…"

Brittany's ramble was cut off when the brunette climbed up the stairs and hesitantly reached for the weapon.

"Will I be safe?" the blonde pressed in a lighter tone, hoping to ease her nervousness.

After she gave the Highlander a quick nod, Brittany started backing up the steps. She couldn't understand it, but somehow winning the brunette's trust really mattered to her.

"I see you have a very interesting collection of things upstairs," Brittany said, trying to smooth the tension that still hung in the air a little more.

The islander once more did not respond with words. She simply tucked the weapon in a pocket of the dress and started ascending the stairs, too.

"In case you are interested in adding my dirk to your miscellany…" Brittany started with a teasing smile, but as she backed up into the large chamber, the sound of crunching shells drew a curse from her lips. "By the devil…"

"This is better," the brunette said, biting her lips to hide an amused smile.

"_What_ is better?" Brittany demanded.

"Saying what you think and feel, instead of playing these games with words," she replied, a faint smile finally breaking through.

"Games with words?" Brittany had no idea what the other woman was talking about.

The brunette shrugged. "I know what you were trying to do, but I am not afraid of you."

Brittany extended her hand to her. "Then can I have my dagger back?"

"Nay, you cannot." The islander breezed by the blonde and walked toward the fire.

Brittany turned, managing to crush more shells. "Why, in the name of Saint Andrew, must you keep these bloody—"

"Brittany Pierce," the brunette said sternly, and then looked over her shoulder at the blonde and smiled amusedly. "A little restraint is good, too."

_She is even more beautiful when she smiles_, Brittany thought. "Who are you?" she asked once more, knowing she would get an answer this time.

"Santana."

"Santana," Brittany repeated, liking the sound of the name as it rolled off her tongue. Brittany tried to pay attention to where she was stepping as she followed the brunette. "Do you live here alone, Santana?"

"Nay…there are others." Despite her immediate answer, Santana couldn't hide the shade of color staining her tan cheeks. "My father…and my…my older brothers…"

Brittany glanced about the room skeptically. As she had noticed before, everything from the sparse furnishings to the few utensils indicated that only one person lived here.

"But they are on the mainland now," Santana blurted out, reading the blonde's thoughts. "They were out fishing when the storm swept in. I _assume_ they must be on the mainland." She shrugged moved toward the hearth. "They are very good water folk. They will be worrying about me out here alone. Aye, I should think they will be getting back anytime," she finished as she looked anywhere but at Brittany.

She was lying and Brittany knew it. And she was nervous again. Brittany had seen two recently dug graves last night. And she had never heard any sailor speak of anyone other than the keeper and his wife living on this island. But of course, there never had been any talk of Santana, either. Brittany decided to let the subject rest…for now.

The brunette was attempting to stir the contents of the cauldron. "I hope I did not destroy your food last night by moving it from the fire," Brittany said apologetically to the busy woman.

Santana looked up at her in confusion. "This is not food," she told the blonde, as though it should have been obvious.

"Then what is it?" Brittany inquired.

Santana pulled out the spoon and let the congealed mixture plop back into the pot. "Some of the sheep have foot rot…from the wet. This is medicine for them," she explained and then glanced at the Highlander over her shoulder. "You didn't try to eat this, did you?" she asked, laughter evident in her voice.

Brittany swallowed hard, remembering the spoonful she tried. "Not successfully," she managed past the lump of nausea that rose in her throat at the memory.

Santana smile, and Brittany was enchanted again. The brunette hefted the cauldron aside and pushed herself to her feet. "So I assume you won't be hungry for a while," she quipped.

"Actually, I am starving," Brittany said, rubbing a hand over her stomach to prove it.

"So am I," Santana grinned as she pulled down a piece of smoked fish hanging from the beams overhead.

"Can I be of any help to you?" Brittany asked as she took a step closer to the brunette. The crunching sound of shells under her boots made her wince.

"Aye. You can stop crushing my shells with every step you take," Santana said, her tone both terse and amused.

Brittany glanced down at the hundreds of bothersome items spread everywhere. She had managed to grind a good many of them into dust already. "Why do you need so many, and why can't you pile them all in one place, so they are not underfoot?" Brittany asked exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Why can't _you_ watch your step?" Santana countered as she handed the blonde a broom.

Brittany took the broom and slowly began to sweep. "I asked my question first," she answered petulantly.

"Aye, but this is _my_ place. I can do as I wish," Santana retorted, an infuriatingly attractive smirk planted firmly on her face as she looked at the blonde. "You asked to help. I am giving you a chance. Why don't you start?"

Brittany planted her hands atop the handle of the broom and watched the brunette move around the room, preparing their meal. She couldn't help herself, so she asked, "I thought you said you live here with your father and brothers."

"I do." Santana once again avoided looking at her.

"Then why did you say '_my_ place'?" Brittany responded, knowing she was catching the brunette in her lie.

"I was speaking for all of us," Santana said, her attention fully focused on the fish she was cooking.

Brittany continued to study Santana's deliberate lack of eye contact. "How many brothers do you have, Santana?"

"Two…three," she added hastily.

"And did your sister go with them, too?" Brittany asked, just as casually as she had the other questions.

"She did," came Santana's short reply.

Now it was Brittany's turn to smile smugly. "But you didn't say anything about your sister before, Santana."

"You keep talking, and you shan't finish your job. And the way I was raised, if you don't work, you don't eat," Santana deflected easily.

However, Brittany had to press on. There was something about the brunette that made Brittany want to know everything there was to know about her. "Tell me, Santana. Why is it that you don't have the accent of the folk who fish these waters?"

"That does it!" Santana turned sharply on her, a deep frown darkening her features even more. "You are going out this instant," she ordered, pointing a finger at the door.

"Not so fast, lassie. You can see I'm working." With a cheeky smile, Brittany started sweeping the broom across the floor. As Santana returned to her own tasks, Brittany also started sweeping up undamaged seashells along with the shards of broken ones. She looked up at the brunette's back. "I never thanked you properly for saving my life," she said softly.

"Well, you might thank me by not getting rid of things I value." Santana had not turned, but she had known what the blonde was up to.

_How did she know?_ Brittany wondered. "Are you a faerie, lass?"

Santana turned around slowly where she stood and shot the Highlander a mysterious look. "Perhaps I am. And perhaps you should leave off your talking and not rile my temper."

"I see." Brittany contained the smile that was pulling at her lips. "And what will you do if I don't do as I'm told?"

Santana scooped a spoonful of the hoof medicine out of the cauldron.

"I'll feed you this for your supper. Any more questions?"

* * *

**A/N: Ooo, Santana's getting sassy ;) What is Santana hiding? _Is_ she hiding anything? Will Brittany's curiosity get the best of her? Find out next week! ;D hehehe**

****P.S. I am still working on the epilogue to _A Dangerous Masquerade_, but I am hopeful that I can get it to you guys next week! *crosses fingers* :)  
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**Bye! :D  
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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, everyone! **

**Heh...So sorry for the wait! I completely forgot that I was going away on vacation last week, and didn't have time to write a new chapter. And then I got caught up reading a Buffy/Faith story that was recommended to me by my best friend and...yeah. Time just got away. Really sorry about that. But, I'm back in the swing of things again, even though this week the chapter is a day late. The next will definitely be next Thursday, though. No doubt. :)  
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**Okay, so the anonymous reviewers!  
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_**BetTheDuckisInTheHat**_** - Thanks so much for the review! I'm really glad that you are liking the story so far! I hope it continues to be original for you :) Hehe, yeah, those sailors and their broken speech...;) Anywho, thanks again and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_WCEO4d0 _- Thank you for the review! I'm thrilled that you like all of my stories! I hope this story doesn't disappoint, and I hope you like this new chapter! :)  
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**Okay, so...one more thing. If you haven't already done so, start reading _nayahasmyheart_'s story _Forbidden_. It's a WWII, Nazi Germany Brittana story, and I only just found it last night (thank you_ cmpgirlpower_, if you're reading this, for putting it on your favorites list), and only read the first chapter, but it's really great! I love me some good period Brittana stories hehe ;)  
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**Oh, also! I am taking some liberties with history in this chapter. Only because it fits my universe a little better, and this story. So, those of you who may be history buffs like me and thinking, "That wouldn't happen in real life" while reading this chapter, I know it's not _all_ 100% true to life in 16th century Scotland, but please overlook those couple small, insignificant details for the sake of the story, okay? Great, thanks :)  
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**Ahem. Without further rambling on my part, chapter 4! Enjoy :D**

* * *

The dying fire in the hearth cast an amber glow over the chamber, sparking and crackling from time to time as a knot of brine-soaked driftwood crumbled into the ember. Sheets of wind-driven rain battered the stout walls, and crystalline mists drifted into the room through the narrow windows. Sometimes a gust of wind would chase the acrid-smelling smoke back down through the chimney, but Santana—lying contently on her bedding—was oblivious to all but the Highlander as she slept across the room.

Until tonight, Santana hadn't realized how much she missed the company of another human being. She had her animals, her gardens, her weaving, her fishing—all the tasks of living that needed to be done if one were to survive alone on an island. She had her shell collecting to keep her busy, as well. The islander had only occasionally thought about having no one to talk to, but now she realized that she missed hearing another human voice. And even more than that, Santana realized that even when Auld Emma and Garth were alive, she had never known what it felt like to have a companion who was interested in her, who challenged her…and who tested her patience every other minute.

And, to be truthful, she loved the feeling.

Garth and Emma had been patient and kind, but very quiet compared to this stranger. They rarely spoke to each other, and for the most part they would speak to her only to instruct. And though they had genuinely cared for her, Santana had always felt a barrier. Once, while she was helping Garth clean some fish they had caught in their nets, he had looked out across the water. A great ship with billowing white sails was moving southward. Without looking at her, Garth said that one day a ship would come and take her away from them. He had said nothing else—and it had never come to be—but she had realized that day that they were protecting themselves and their feelings. They knew they could lose her at any time.

Santana could only remember bits and pieces of her lost family, but what she could recall she had never revealed. She knew Emma and Garth always assumed that most of her family had died in the same shipwreck that had placed her on their island. But the knowledge that there might be others who wanted her back—or perhaps wanted to hurt her—had made the couple hide her away anytime fishermen or sailors or pilgrims appeared on the rocky shore.

The brunette knew that she had been a welcome addition in their lives. To be sure, they had been a godsend for her. And she missed them terribly.

The Highlander made a noise in her sleep. Santana sat up and watched the blonde across the way. She was restless. Tonight the two of them had argued more than they had talked during their meal of smoked fish and dried bannock bread. The taller woman was so full of questions about who Santana was and who her parents were and what she was doing on this island. Santana had taken great enjoyment in continually changing the topic and turning the questions back on the blonde. Naturally, Brittany wouldn't answer anything unless she did. Alternately funny and angry, the Highlander had been entirely attentive to every word Santana said and every movement she made. So they had gone round and round, and the brunette had enjoyed every minute of it.

Santana tucked her knees against her chest and admired the glow of the fire reflecting off the beautiful planes of the blonde's face. She was not like any of the sailors or pilgrims from the Highlands that she had spied on over the years. She was not loud or rude. And Brittany had not tried to handle her with any of the roughness that Emma had warned her of. Perhaps it was because Brittany was a woman. But Santana suspected it was simply in Brittany's nature to be gentle and caring, even if as a sailor the blonde would not readily admit it herself.

As Santana observed her, Brittany murmured something aloud in her sleep. Santana scrambled from her bedding and stood watching the Highlander mover her head from side to side. She was struggling against something in her dream.

The brunette moved quickly to her side. She was still asleep, but her face was covered in sweat, and she continued to thrash about. Her arms and legs were moving, too, as she struggled. Santana crouched down and placed a hand on the blonde's brow, wondering for a moment if she had caught a fever.

Brittany's blue eyes opened instantly. Santana immediately drew her hand back, but stayed where she was.

"I think you were having a nightmare," the islander breathed out as she gazed into the crystal blue eyes of the prone Highlander.

Brittany blinked a few times, trying to clear her head. "I _died_ in my dream." Her voice was raspy and hoarse. "I have never before died in my dreams," she whispered, a tremble audible in her voice. The vulnerability in Brittany's tone tugged at Santana's heart.

"Have no fear. You'll live a long and full life. The sea cast you up, so your life thread is that much stronger. That's what Emma used to tell me when I would have bad dreams," Santana said softly to her, smiling warmly in effort to soothe the shaken blonde before her. The brunette used the corner of the blanket and ran it gently over Brittany's brow and wiped her face. She brushed back the other woman's golden hair. Brittany still had the dazed look of one who hovered halfway between sleep and waking.

When the islander started to pull her hand away, Brittany reached up and captured it gently in her own. "Stay," she pleaded as she lightly stroked the olive skin of the brunette's hand with her slender porcelain fingers.

Santana's attention was focused on their joined hands. She reveled in how perfect her hand felt wrapped up in the blonde's slightly larger one. Like they were always meant to hold each other. Santana stared, mesmerized at the contrast of their skin—at the strength that was so evident in the Highlander's sinewy arms and yet the gentleness with which she held her.

"Tell me about the dream," Santana managed to say through her apparent trance, her voice taking on a huskier tone than usual. "Sometimes it helps."

Brittany's eyes were so blue that Santana thought she would drown in them, and yet she couldn't bring herself to look away. "I had forgotten how to swim. My legs and arms were not mine to command. And every time I thought I could catch some air, another great wave would crash over me and take me deeper," the blonde finished with a shudder.

Santana edged closer to Brittany's side and sat on the bedding. Their hips were touching through the blanket, and the brunette was very conscious of the contact.

"That is just a scare held over from your struggles during the storm," she said soothingly to the blonde as her fingers moved of their own accord and touched the softness of Brittany's sharp chin. Her fingers roamed tenderly over the tip of Brittany's chin and hesitantly rose to trace her supple lips. Santana was captivated by how much softer the blonde's mouth was compared to the already silky texture of her pale skin. "You are safe here," Santana murmured while her fingers continued their exploration.

Santana watched Brittany's eyes darkened upon feeling the feather-light caress of the brunette's fingers on her mouth. Shocked by her own behavior, Santana guiltily withdrew her fingers. Brittany's eyes focused on her face in a way that she could not identify.

"You said you had bad dreams," the blonde remarked quietly.

"Aye. Many times. Sometimes I still do," she answered just as softly, never once looking the Highlander in the eyes.

"Were you ever caught in waves like that, too?" Brittany continued to probe. "Washed ashore?"

"I was." Santana knew she had made a mistake the moment the words had left her mouth. She tried to pull away, but Brittany's grip on her one hand held her where she was.

"Tell me about it, Santana," the blonde urged with a tenderness Santana did not expect.

The brunette shook her head and looked away once more. "There is nothing to tell. I…I almost drowned swimming off the western bluffs."

"You blush when you lie." The smirk was clear in the Highlander's matter-of-fact tone.

Santana turned sharply to her. "I blush when I am contemplating murder, too," she snapped.

Brittany had the nerve to laugh for a moment. The brunette shivered as Brittany's thumb moved slowly back and forth across her palm.

"How old are you, Santana?" Again with the rather abrupt questions.

"Seventy-one this month! Far too old for you to be look at me like _that_," she retorted, pulling her hand free and practically running across the room.

Brittany's laughter followed her as she crawled beneath the blankets. Santana tried to close her eyes and ears to her charm.

_If the filthy dogs find a young and bonny think like ye on this deserted island, they'll all be thinking the same thing, lassie._ Emma's warnings were losing their bite. The fact that she was a Highlander wasn't even enough to worry the brunette.

Santana pulled the blanket over her blushing face. The problem lay not with the woman who was watching her from across the room. The problem was with _her_. How had she become so stupid so quickly?

She knew she was in trouble if Brittany Pierce didn't leave soon.

* * *

Buffeted by the gusting wind, Brittany stood at the very edge of the rock bluff and scanned the turbulent sea all around her. Not a ship or a boat for as far as she could see. The blond had taken advantage of a break in the rain at dawn, leaving Santana to the sleep of the innocent. She wasn't surprised by the lack of any sails, though perhaps the easing of the rain was a sign that the storm was blowing itself out. Once the skies began to clear, Brittany knew that she would see at least one ship on the horizon.

More than looking for her sister's ship, though, Brittany needed to get away from Santana. The Highland had desperately needed some fresh air to clear her head.

There was something about the raven-haired beauty. Santana was bewitching her. Young women had always been easy to come by. The Lord above—and her parents—had blessed Brittany with a fair share of good looks. She had a good family name. She had never needed to pursue any lass. And she had never seen any need for settling down, either. The ones who had come looking for marriage, Brittany sent on their way. The blonde's plans included no spouse—that was certain! She had plans to sail the seas. Adventure, fame, fortune…those were the things Brittany was after. And she had never considered letting her plans be spoiled by one woman in one port.

Brittany walked toward the chasm that cut diagonally across the island. Descending, she followed a freshwater spring and dropped down to a stony beach. The brown eyes of a half dozen seals were watching her from the water. Spotting some driftwood that had washed in with the storm tide, Brittany began collecting some to carry back.

She was the youngest child of Alexander Pierce, a Highland laird, and Fiona Pierce. Through her mother, Brittany was granddaughter to the great King James the Fourth and cousin by blood to the infant Queen Mary. Naturally, with lineage like that, there were certain expectations. Though she had tried to fight it, Brittany's parents had insisted that she follow her two older siblings' footsteps and finish her education at St. Andrews. But now, by the devil, that was behind her. Now Brittany was ready to follow her dreams.

From Ireland to Antwerp, Pierce ships had been raiding merchant vessels from the continent and from England for at least five generations. As her grandfather used to say, piracy ran in Pierce blood. Brittany's youngest uncle, John Pierce, had been the lord of the king's navy. Her other uncle, Ambrose, a fierce warrior, had also sailed these waters and raided many ships before settling down to a life of service to the Crown.

Brittany's older sister, Quinn, was master of the Pierce ships now. Samuel, the second Pierce child, had chosen to pursue—like their Uncle Ambrose—the life of a diplomat. This left a world of opportunity open for Brittany, for she knew Quinn could keep at this for only so many years before her time came to assume the mantle of the next Pierce laird. When that happened, Brittany wanted to be sure that she was ready to take charge of the clan's fleet of ships and continue the family tradition. Hell, the Spanish ships coming back from the New World were just bulging with silver and gold. They were plums waiting to be picked.

Brittany simply couldn't allow any woman to interfere with plans like those. Even if she was beautiful and mysterious.

By the time Brittany returned to the priory carrying a stack of driftwood, her mind was clear and her resolve set. No attachment. No attraction. No worrying about Santana, or even going after her again should she choose to hide. The brunette had obviously been surviving perfectly well before the Highlander's arrival. She would continue on just as well after Brittany left.

Brittany's resolve, however, lasted only until she came up the stairs and found Santana missing. Her bed was neatened. The fire was burning nicely. Some of her blankets were missing, though.

"Bloody hell!" Brittany muttered to herself. "Don't tell me you've run off again."

Brittany dropped the load of wood and went out, her resolve obliterated in an instant.

All she knew was that she had to find Santana.

* * *

Protected from the worst of the wind in the yard between the crumbling stone walls of the ruined church and the ancient cemetery, Santana moved quickly among the sheep. Beyond the low cemetery wall, a nanny goat stood watching the proceedings suspiciously.

From the first moment Santana had noticed the lameness in a few of the sheep and had discovered the cracks and abrasions between their toes, she had used the direct method that Garth always used to treat the flock: move them to higher ground and spread the salve that he had taught her to make on the feet of any sheep that might be developing the condition. And after three weeks of it, she was happy to see that they were finally responding to the treatment.

The cutting drafts of wind that snaked into the yard were still cold, but the sky was brightening. Glancing up, Santana thought that the sun might even break through before long.

Kneeling among the sheep, Santana finished rubbing the salve on another of the animals' feet. As soon as the ewe was turned loose, she butted and pushed her way into a safe place amid the rest of the flock.

The brunette looked bout her in search of her last patient. She found the pregnant ewe standing alone and watching her warily from the cemetery wall. "Come here, Makyn."

The ewe pawed the ground gently.

"You've been talking to the nanny goat, haven't you?" Santana scolded.

Makyn looked away.

"Come here, good mother. This is the last time we'll be doing this." Santana spoke softly and took a small handful of oats from a pocket in her dress. When she held it out, the ewe still refused to look at her.

"Getting a wee bit of your own treatment, I see."

Santana felt her pulse quicken at the sound of the Highlander's voice, and she cursed her own treacherous heart. Brittany was leaning over the cemetery wall and looking with interest at the portions at the brunette's feet.

"Well," the blonde said with a glint in her eye, "from personal experience I can say that if she doesn't want anything to do with that poisonous brew, I don't blame her."

"She is just not feeling well today. Otherwise, she would come," Santana responded stubbornly, glancing over to the Highlander. A breeze, riffling through the blonde's long hair, tugged at the ends of her tartan. The blue of her eyes this morning was a sure match for any summer sky. Santana tore her gaze away from her striking face and focused on the ewe. "Come, Makyn."

The sheep edged a little down the wall toward Brittany. Santana pushed herself to her feet to follow the stubborn animal.

"Stay where you are," Brittany said with a raise of her hand. "I'll bring her to you."

Santana quirked a dark eyebrow in disbelief. "Do you know about tending sheep?"

"I've never had much interest in the creatures, to be honest. The other women tend them where I come from." Brittany jumped nimbly over the wall. "Never looked very difficult, though," she said with confidence.

Santana bit her tongue and sat back on her heels to watch the show. Just as she had expected, as soon as Brittany approached, Makyn scurried away.

"Hold there, ewe," the blonde ordered. "I'm not the one with the poison potion."

Makyn bleated loudly and ran frantically toward the rest of the flock. Brittany rushed the animal, but her abrupt movement served only to rile the entire flock. In an instant, Makyn had blended in with the rest of the bleating, scurrying bundles of wool.

"Where the devil did she…? Ah, there you are, you—you ewe," Brittany continued to mutter fervently as she tried to capture the wayward sheep.

Stifling a smile, Santana stood and walked toward Brittany. She put a hand on the blonde's arm, stopping her. "Not to be critical of your shepherding, but I shouldn't think Makyn is in any condition for this. The creature is probably only a day or two away from lambing. I think she has had enough excitement, don't you?"

Brittany's intense blue gaze fell to Santana's hand resting on her bare arm. The blonde had rolled up her shirt to the elbows. Her skin was so warm, and Santana removed her fingers immediately, as if she had been burned.

"Very well. I am your attentive pupil, mistress," Brittany said with mock solemnity.

Santana didn't dare look up to meet the blonde's gaze that she knew was trained intently on her. Instead, she focused her attention on the terrified ewe at the far end of the yard.

"Sheep must always be handled firmly, but calmly and gently, too," Santana said softly. "Running and exciting them will only invite trouble."

"I always thought the same could be said about handling people," Brittany whispered warmly into her ear from her place beside the brunette. "I was firm, calm, and gentle when I met you, but _you_ still ran away."

"That just shows you that I am much smarter than Makyn," Santana said haughtily, as she tried to slow the fast-paced rhythm of her heart that Brittany's close proximity inspired in her.

"Do they all have names?" Brittany asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Only the animals that I decide to keep," Santana answered matter-of-factly.

"Very insightful. The thought of having a David skewered and roasting over the fire is not very appetizing," Brittany agreed.

"It could be worse," Santana quipped with a sly grin spreading slowly across her face.

Confusion flashed in Brittany's eyes. "How?"

Santana moved away from her. "We could have a Brittany roasting over the fire," she taunted over her shoulder at the blonde.

Brittany smiled and nodded at the brunette, but kept her voice grave. "In that case, I feel much, much safer having a name."

"And another thing: you should remember that in approaching sheep, never look at them directly," Santana instructed, shifting the subject back to the task at hand.

Brittany was beside her again. "Very well."

Santana felt the taller woman's hand take hold of hers. Stunned momentarily, the brunette turned to look at her.

Brittany's blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. "I thought it might be helpful for you to look at _me _as we approach her."

The blonde was simply too beautiful for Santana's comfort. "And why should I do such a thing?" she tried to retort, as though the other woman's touch had no effect on her.

Brittany shrugged nonchalantly. Her smile was warm enough to melt through a sea fog. "Perhaps because I enjoy looking at you."

Santana's breath hitched in her throat. Never had someone spoken to her in such a way. "And why should _you_ want to do such a thing?" Her voice came out far too husky for her liking.

"You are beginning to ask far too many questions," Brittany smirked teasingly as she shook her head. "You might pick up my bad habits…and not just the good ones."

"You have good habits?" Santana retorted, smirking again at the blonde.

"Some," Brittany said softly, her tone sincere as her blue eyes searched Santana's.

The brunette's hear pounded wildly in her chest as she felt Brittany's gaze brush over her face. In sheer panic, she took a half step back.

"I…I think Makyn is calm enough now for…for us to tend to her," she stuttered out.

Brittany's eyes had turned a smoky blue—almost gray—and Santana felt her heart hammering in her chest even harder. She wasn't sure what the blonde intended to do, or what it was that she herself _wanted_. Stopping, though, seemed to be the best course.

Brittany seemed to read her thoughts, and her friendly smile returned. "Very well. You lead and I'll follow. Or just tell me what to do."

"I'll catch and you hold her. You spread the salve on her feet. Or we can do it the other way around if you like," Santana suggested, grateful for the blonde's seeming understanding.

Of course, the brunette could have done the whole thing by herself, but she suddenly didn't want the other woman to go away.

"I don't think my stomach will allow me to get too close to that cauldron. Tell me what to do, and I'll catch her," Brittany said with a resolute nod.

Santana took her by the elbow and brought her a little closer to Makyn. "Without looking at her, get a bit nearer. When she is within your reach, quickly reach out and grab the wool under her chin. Just tip the head upward. This will keep her off balance and easy to hold. Now, if she turns her back to you, just grab her by the rear flank." Santana gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll bring the medicine to you."

As Santana headed for the cauldron, she could hear the muttered curses erupt from the Highlander, followed by a loud complaint from Makyn. When the brunette turned around, she almost laughed aloud at the sight of woman and sheep tangled together on the ground by the wall.

"I don't know which of us is winning this battle," Brittany murmured when Santana settled beside them. "But please make sure you put that foul faerie brew on the _sheep's_ foot."

"Hmm…but 'tis so easy to mistake one for the other," Santana jested, unable to suppress a laugh at the blonde's answering pout. She started rubbing the salve on Makyn's front hooves first. Teasing, she reached for one of Brittany's boots.

"If," the Highlander said sharply, "you want any of those precious shells of yours left intact, you won't even _think_ about putting any of that on me."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean the shells that you have already crushed by the hundreds?"

"There are a few left, I believe," Brittany responded. She sat the ewe back on her hindquarters so Santana could tend to the back feet and smiled mischievously. "Actually, there is something soothing about the soft crunching noise those shells make when I…"

Brittany trailed off and her blue eyes widened comically as Santana held the salve up before her face, a devilish smirk planted firmly on her face.

"I am done with Makyn. You must be next."

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**A/N: Teehee, I couldn't resist putting in some more about the sheep foot medicine ;) This story is turning out to be a little more humorous than I originally anticipated, but I think it's okay, right? :)**

**Oh, and I know we always assume that Brittany is the one who would be awesome with animals, but I thought that it would be fun to see those roles reversed here, where Brittany pretty much has no idea, and Santana is the 'expert' lol :)  
**

**Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter! The next will be up shortly :)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, readers! :)**

**I'm sorry for the delay in this chapter as well. I was all poised to write it and post it Thursday, but then I had an unexpected, although certainly not unwelcome, change to my schedule, which kind of set me back a bit, but I think I got a new writing schedule worked out that will let me post on time in the future. :) We'll see how it goes lol ;)  
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**Anyway, so, the 'anonymous' reviewer!  
**

**_Heyaismylife - _I'm really glad that you're liking the funny parts! And the rest of the story :) Hehe, I know, Brittana can't help their connection, no matter what the circumstances are ;) Lol, that makes two of us who wish Quinn will take her sweet time in finding Brittany. But will she? We'll find out ;) Anyway...yeah, I totally agree about the new "Guest Review" system this site has going on now. Really stupid. I mean, just because someone doesn't have an account, or chooses not to use their account to review, doesn't mean that they have to be reduced to a mere "Guest" with no identity. It also makes it hard for me to respond to everyone if they all have the same names, lol. Oh, and can I also say how ridiculous it is that it says that "the author thanks you for your review" or whatever whenever you post a review? I saw that the other day when I left a comment on a story, and was like, "Wtf?" Because, I mean, it should be the author's responsibility to thank their reviewers. Whether en masse or individually. Ahem. Um...sorry for the rant. I just hate useless changes to things that make no sense whatsoever, lol. :) ANYwho...I hope you like this chapter! :)**

**Onto the chapter! Enjoy! :)**

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Though the storm's force had lessened somewhat, the wind continued to lash at the island. It wouldn't be long, though, Brittany though, before her sister's ship reappeared.

The Highlander worked alongside Santana as the brunette went about her chores, tending the animals, drawing water from the well inside the prior walls. Santana was capable and beautiful. Yet she was quick to discourage any advances Brittany might make. Though the blonde was not entirely surprised, given the lack of society here on the island, it was still somewhat disconcerting for her. To have a woman shy away from her touch was not something Brittany was accustomed to.

Oddly, though, Santana's gentle rebuffs managed only to entice the taller woman more, for Brittany knew that it was not a coy game the islander was playing. Santana was as genuine as the sea was deep.

"Thank you for bringing this wood up from the strand," Santana said warmly as she came down the stairs.

Brittany straightened after stacking the last of it just inside the door. "'Tis enough, do you think?" She asked, eyeing the modest pile of driftwood on the floor.

"So long as you don't start another fire in the yard as great as the first night. What a waste of wood!" Santana teased the blonde with a playful smirk lighting up her exotic features.

The blondes smiled cheekily in return. "'Twas a grand trick to draw you out, wouldn't you say?"

"I shouldn't be bragging about that too much, considering you are still trapped on the May with me and no way off," Santana retorted as she brushed past the Highlander and strode outside.

_Trapped_ wasn't the word that Brittany would have used. If Santana only knew. In all actuality, Brittany was beginning to think that this arrangement was not bat at all, and found herself slightly wishing that Quinn would never find her here. Stilling smiling, Brittany followed Santana into the yard.

"What's next?" the blonde asked brightly as she sauntered up to Santana's side.

"Usually Garth would be turning over the garden about this time of year…and the oat field," Santana responded as her dark eyes scanned the yard.

"How long ago did he die?" Brittany asked solemnly, sympathetically.

"December. Little more than a fortnight after Emma." A deep blush immediately crept up Santana's tan cheeks, and Brittany saw the brunette's gaze turn warily to her.

Santana had blundered again and told the blonde more than she had meant to. If Garth and Emma were the old keepers, then Santana was totally alone. The Highlander turned away, looking absently at the ruined buildings that stood within the priory walls.

Concern for the brunette slipped unexpectedly into Brittany's chest like the blade of a dagger. What was going to happen to Santana when the Pierce ship came back for her? The blonde frowned at the skies with the broken clouds scudding across occasional patches of blue. Determined not to press her for answers that she was obviously not ready to give, Brittany turned back to her with a warm smile. Unable to stop herself, Brittany reached out and tucked a wind-whipped, silken lock of raven-colored hair behind the brunette's delicate ear.

"Would you show me around the priory before the rain starts again?" Brittany asked softly.

Santana gave a small nod and started out toward the ruined buildings surrounding them.

Brittany looked around at the buildings and the countryside fanning out in nearly every direction. "Sailing past the island, you never get a feeling that this place is even livable," she said with obvious wonder as she walked beside the shorter woman.

"Is that what you do? Are you a sailor?" Santana asked as she glanced sidelong at the Highlander.

"I suppose I am." If Brittany wanted Santana to trust her enough to answer her questions, she knew that she needed to set the precedent. "I have sailed on Pierce ships for as long as I can remember. I have traveled from the Orkneys to Africa. But up to now, I have been more student than sailor." The blonde glanced out at the stormy sea, as though she were really looking back through the years. Shaking her head to bring her mind back to the present, Brittany turned her gaze back to the brunette at her side. "But now that I am finished with my schooling, I suppose you can say that I'm a sailor."

Santana pulled the hood of her cloak up. The wind—wet and cold—was picking up. She headed toward the building Brittany guessed had been the original church. A fire had long ago taken the roof, and the door was gone. Looking in, the blonde could see a chancel with a stone altar at the far end. She could almost envision gray-robed monks chanting their prayers there. The end wall was half-gone, as well, and several gray-and-white seabirds were perched on the bottom ledge of an arched stone opening that had once undoubtedly held a stained-glass window.

Santana's husky voice broke into her thoughts. "May I ask how old you are?"

"Eighteen," Brittany responded, refocusing her attention on the islander.

"You've accomplished so much already," Santana said, the awe obvious in her tone, as well as in her eyes as she gazed deeply into Brittany's sea-blue eyes.

The blonde felt herself swell with a pride she had never really felt before about herself from that simple statement as a blush rose in her pale cheeks. "Would you tell me how old _you_ are?" she asked the brunette, surprising herself with how shy her voice sounded.

Santana paused first, as though she were contemplating whether or not she should lie to the blonde, but then murmured, "Seventeen."

Brittany smiled warmly at the other woman. "Seeing how well you take care of yourself and everything around here, I should say _you_ have accomplished quite a bit."

"'Tis hardly the same," she whispered quietly.

Brittany didn't miss the flash of sadness in her deep brown eyes. "Why do you stay here?" she asked gently as she placed a warm hand upon Santana's arm, searching the shorter woman's eyes for an answer.

"This is my home. This is where I belong," Santana quipped, her eyes once more guarded and unreadable as she looked away from the blonde.

"But you were not born here," Brittany immediately responded. She held the brunette's gaze when Santana looked up at her, startled by her words. "Santana, I told you I have sailed these waters. For as long as I can recall, there was never any word of the old keeper and his wife having any children," Brittany explained once more, hoping that this time she would be successful in retrieving some information from the beautiful islander.

Santana kept her gaze steady as she revealed, "I have been here a long time. If no one knew about me, that is because these good people were trying to protect me. They were afraid of what might happen to me if people knew I was here—the sailors of passing ships or the fishermen from the mainland or even the occasional pilgrims coming here during the warmer weather. Auld Emma and Garth wanted to keep me safe."

"I am not questioning what they did. What I am wondering is where you came from. Who is your family?" Brittany inquired, although she did not expect a real answer.

She was not disappointed. Santana moved away from her immediately without answering, and Brittany followed, fighting back her frustration. At least Santana was no longer trying to feed her stories about her family being out fishing in storm-tossed seas.

When she caught up to the retreating woman, Brittany could no longer hold in her thoughts. "With Garth and Emma gone, how will you stay here all by yourself? What if you should fall ill? Or break an arm climbing the cliffs for birds' eggs? Or slip on one of those damned shells and crack your head open?" she demanded fiercely.

But Santana merely crossed her arms and turned her back to the irritated blonde. Brittany wasn't giving up, though, and just moved around her so that she was facing the incommunicative brunette. "What the keeper and his wife were concerned about before is nothing compared with what you should fear right now. You are a very beautiful young woman, Santana. Do you have any idea of the dangers that—"

"Do you want to see this priory or not?" Santana snapped harshly, cutting her off. Temper had moved in with the speed of a Highland storm, altering the shorter woman's mood immediately. Brittany knew that she needed to restrain herself from pressing her argument until Santana understood her dilemma. At the same time, Brittany understood her stubbornness—and her desire for independence.

So, the Highlander nodded resignedly, knowing full well that they were far from finished with this argument. The wind seemed much stronger as Santana walked away from the cluster of buildings and led the blonde to the middle of the old cemetery. Looking about her, beyond the walls, Brittany couldn't help being affected by the wildness and the beauty of the terrain—so much like the young woman who stood beside her.

"For such a small island, there are a lot of graves," Brittany commented, her gaze never wavering from the cemetery.

"Garth told me that more than one person is buried in many of the graves," Santana answered softly.

"How did he know?"

"In his years here he had to bury a number of pilgrims who died of their illnesses while visiting. He told me it was common to dig and find two or three bodies buried in the small grave with only a layer of shell sand separating them," she explained as they walked along the grassy path. "A few years back, I came upon some record books in the old chapter house. I believe the monks who lived here before left them. They are accounts of births and deaths on the Isle of May going back some three hundred years."

The rugged terrain seemed too uninhabitable to Brittany. "'Tis hard to believe families actually lived here," she admitted.

"I don't believe any families did live here," Santana answered, turning her back to the wind and facing the taller woman. "Not for any length of time, anyway. For all the years I looked back through in the books, there was only a record of one birth, and that was immediately followed by the woman's and the child's deaths. But there are many, many deaths. I think most of the pilgrims who came to visit Saint Adrian's chapel and monastery were very ill. Some might have been cured and left here. But many died and were buried on the island. The accounts of it seem to have stopped, though, when the last of the monks was recalled to the mainland. Or perhaps he died, too, because no one took the books with them."

Santana continued to talk, but Brittany's mind was focused on what she had said about reading the account books. _Reading_. Not many families in Scotland taught their daughters to read and write, Brittany knew, as her family was certainly one of the exceptions. The puzzle of Santana's past continued to intrigue her. She doubted that Garth and Emma could have been able to read.

As a light rain started to fall, they headed back toward the huddle of ruined buildings.

Brittany wondered why the buildings were left to deteriorate so. "Does the Crown own the island now?" That would certainly explain things, Brittany knew. The Crown would have very little interest in the upkeep of such a small, rugged island as the May.

Santana shook her head in the negative. "Nay, I remember Emma saying that the St. Andrew's Cathedral priory has held it for more than a century. Not that they are doing anything about it," she finished with a huff.

And just like that, Brittany's mind switched focus once more. "But they were the ones who sent the husband and wife here, didn't they?" she inquired.

"Aye," was all the response Santana gave. Instead of going back inside, the brunette turned her steps toward the sheep.

Brittany was hot on her heels, not willing to let Santana run away from this discussion at least. "Don't you think that they should be told that Garth and Emma have passed away?"

"I am doing everything that they were doing. The place is not getting any worse because of me," Santana retorted defensively as she search among the sheep.

"I am not being critical of your abilities. What I am trying to say is that a big part of the keeper's job had to do with taking care of the pilgrims who came here in the better weather," Brittany explained, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, lest she incur the fiery brunette's wrath for the second time that day.

She watched as Santana wordlessly crouched before a ewe lying in the grass.

Frustration finally getting the better of her, Brittany let the mental filter that kept many of her thoughts safely tucked away in her brain drop and the words she had been previously holding back spilled forth like water from a broken dam. "What are you going to do when people arrive looking for food and shelter? You told me yourself that most of them are very ill. Now, how are you going to help them when you are hiding in some cave across the island?" Brittany didn't give her a chance to respond. "And if you _were_ to show your face and try to help them, how long do you think it will take before the news reaches the abbot at St. Andrew's?" Brittany finished her speech slightly out of breath, still staring intently at the brunette on the ground.

Santana's head was bent over the pregnant ewe. She pushed some oats toward the animal, but Makyn turned her head away. Santana didn't seem to have heard much at all of what Brittany had been telling her. The rain was starting to fall harder again, and the wind was picking up. The hood of Santana's cloak was pushed back and her hair was gleaming from the rain. But despite it all, she was oblivious to everything but the animal before her.

In an instant, the wind was taken from the sails of Brittany's argument and frustration. All she saw was the concern on the brunette's face. The blonde crouched beside Santana and pulled the hood over her hair, noticing the slight tremble of Santana's chin. "What is wrong with her?" Brittany asked in a tone barely above a whisper as she placed a supportive hand on the other woman's strong back.

"I think she is ready to lamb," Santana replied woodenly.

"Now?" Brittany asked incredulously as she gestured with her free hand to the clouds above that were getting darker by the second.

"'Tis nature's way," Santana said, her tone hollow, and Brittany knew the brunette wasn't really paying much heed to her. Most of Santana's attention was focused on the prone sheep before her.

The sky overhead chose that moment to open up and begin to pour buckets of rain down on the island. "Isn't this something they do on their own?" Brittany asked.

Santana gave a hesitant nod but did not move.

"How long before…before she is done?" the blonde questioned, eyeing the soon-to-be mother warily.

Santana shrugged. "It could be minutes, hours, or days."

At that, Brittany let out an indignant huff. "Well, you are not sitting her and holding her foot for days."

As if to contradict her, Santana settled even more closely against the animal and draped her cloak over the ewe. In a moment, the rain had soaked through her dress.

"If 'tis dying that you wish to inflict on yourself, then why not just walk to the west cliffs and jump into the sea?" Brittany asked, exasperated by the brunette's resolve.

"That would be committing a sin," she whispered absently, focusing on the sheep.

"Then why not let me walk over there with you, and _I_ can push you over the edge?" Brittany mockingly suggested with a roll of her eyes.

"I already know that you won't do that," Santana said and gave Brittany a brilliant, warm smile that went right to her heart. Then, much to Brittany's chagrin, Santana's expression sobered as she turned her gaze back to Makyn. "Brittany, I cannot leave her here in the middle of this storm. Something is not right with her."

Brittany considered pulling the brunette to her feet and forcing her back to the priory house. It was so much easier to play the bully than to reason with such a strong-willed woman. But Santana's simple comment that she knew the blonde wouldn't hurt her had touched Brittany deeply. More than it should have.

Frustrated, Brittany pushed herself to her feet and glanced around. "Would you be happy if she were settled in some dry place?" she asked when she had spotted a place not far from the priory house.

Santana's dark eyes looked up at her hopefully.

"I can carry her to that wall where I settled in two nights ago. 'Tis fairly well sheltered. I can even make a fire for her, and bring in some seaweed and spread a dry bed." Mischief twinkled in her blue eyes. "I can even go up into your loft and bring down one of your wool dresses for her. Perhaps sing to her."

"You are making fun of me," Santana responded, the hope that had shined in her eyes dimming a little. The droplets of rain shone like jewels on her tan face, and Brittany regretted she had ever attempted to joke about the situation.

Brittany smiled apologetically to the brunette, not for the first time cursing her inability to keep some of her thoughts to herself. "I just needed to find out the extent of your attachment to this animal. I mean, you don't give a second thought to sleeping out in a freezing storm, but when it comes to—"

"Helping me to get her to that dry overhang will do," Santana again cut her off.

The brunette reached her hand up, and Brittany immediately took it, pulling her to her feet. Despite all the physical work Santana did on the island, Brittany was amazed by the softness of her skin. Startled by that thought, Brittany abruptly dropped the brunette's hand.

Makyn preferred walking to being carried by Brittany, but her steps were slow and wobbly, her head hanging down. Santana ran ahead of them, and by the time Brittany had led the ewe to the sheltered spot, Santana _had_ spread a bed of dry seaweed for the pregnant animal.

"No fire," Santana said softly before Brittany could make a comment. "And I _will_ come inside, so long as you don't pester me about occasionally coming out to check on Makyn."

Brittany controlled her urge to say anything that came to mind to tease the brunette for her doting over the sheep, and instead simply nodded agreeably.

Makyn settled down on the bedding, but continued to show little interest in what was going on around her. The wind and rain were picking up in intensity. As time passed, Brittany could see that the cold was having its effect on Santana. Crouching beside the sheep, the brunette was beginning to shiver again.

"You promised to come inside," Brittany reminded her gently.

Santana nodded and stood up. She must have risen too quickly, for Brittany saw her put out a hand to stop herself from falling forward. As the blonde instinctively reached out to stead her, another instinct—that of pulling Santana into her arms and kissing her soft, full lips—suddenly blocked out all rational thought.

The brunette was looking up at her, innocent and vulnerable, and then her dark eyes widened. As much as she wanted to kiss her now, Brittany hesitated. Then the realization that taking advantage of Santana in this situation would be a mistake poured through her body like icy water. The blonde's hands immediately dropped to her sides. Without uttering another word, Brittany turned and strode quickly away and across the moor toward the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea.

Brittany had felt her body respond to women before, but there was something in her attraction to this island lass that was so very different. She had never been faced with such aggravating thoughts of right and wrong. It was only a kiss that she wanted. _Only a kiss_, she repeated to herself sternly. So why was it, then, that confusion and guilt were churning about inside of her?

The Highlander reached the rocky bluffs and stared out at the rolling sea. Suddenly the weather around her couldn't even compete with the turbulence of her mood.

When had wooing lasses become so blasted difficult?

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**A/N: Aw, poor Brittany. Doesn't know how to handle having _real_ feelings for someone :/ Let's see how she handles this, shall we? And will Santana _ever_ open up to Brittany? Seems not, at this rate. ;)**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 6 will be up soon! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Greetings, readers! :)**

**No excuses this time. I was simply too lazy last week to work on this chapter. I'm sorry for making you guys wait!  
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**Reviewers!  
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**_Heyaismylife - _Haha, figures. FFN would change the policy for anonymous reviews as soon as I ranted about it to you lol. My bad :) Thanks for the review! I'm so glad you're liking this story :) And, I'm glad you like the way Brittany's dealing (or not dealing lol) with her feelings. This chapter is mostly in Santana's POV, so we get a little glimpse into her own feelings :) I hope you like it!  
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**_Guest - _Thank you for the comment! :) I'm sorry for the delay in updating...:/ I hope you like this chapter, though! :)  
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**Okay, that's enough out of me. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D**

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What was wrong with her?

One minute, Santana was startled by the intensity she could see in Brittany's face. The next minute—as she watched the blonde walk away—more than anything in the world she wanted the Highlander's soft, lean arms around her again. Santana realized that she actually _wanted_ the fluttering in her stomach back.

All of the questions about living alone—questions that she had allowed herself to ignore—were now rearing up defiantly before her. Even the sense of security that she had created in her own mind had been shattered, swept away in two short days. And all she could feel now was a jagged and dangerous edge.

Brittany Pierce had upended her life, and now the blonde had the nerve to walk out into the storm.

Santana went inside and changed into dry clothing. In a few minutes, she came out and checked on Makyn, who hadn't moved. There was no sign of Brittany. Going in again, the brunette spent some time in the loft area beneath the roof. Restless, she went down and sat by the fire, carding wool. But she could not sit for long and went out again. And then back in. And then out yet again. Still no sign of the tall, blonde Highlander.

Santana considered going after her—but then decided against it. As the daylight faded into dusk, the wind continued to blow, but without the sense of purpose it had had earlier. Even the frothy sea seemed to be extending farther and farther to the horizon.

The thought of Brittany going away without telling her—or saying good-bye—began as a cold white point in her head and grew steadily until it was a torment for her. There were no boats, however, left on the island. Not long after Garth died, his small curragh had been battered to splinters during a winter storm when the waves had crashed it against the rocks. It hadn't mattered to Santana at the time, and she was glad of it now. But that didn't mean other boats from the mainland were not already out on the sea. At any time, one could see Brittany on the shoreline and carry her back with them. But if this was to be their fate—never to see each other again—then she was as helpless about it as she was about everything else in her life.

It was well after dark when Santana finally heard the blonde coming up the steps. Checking the thick braid she had made of her hair, the brunette hurriedly tucked any unruly tendril behind her ear. She glanced down at her tattered dress and wished she had something better to change into. The excitement surging through Santana was unmatched by anything she remembered experiencing ever before.

Brittany was wet clear through, and she looked extremely tired when she stalked into the firelit chamber.

To keep herself from going to the blonde, Santana crouched before the hearth, lifted a cauldron onto the iron arm that extended out from the wall, and swung the pot over the fire.

"I thought perhaps you had decided to take a chance on the sea," she said teasingly when the Highlander made no move to speak first. "'Tis only a few leagues to the mainland. Not a bad swim, I shouldn't think."

Santana smirked playfully over her shoulder at her and tried to pretend that nothing had changed. Brittany simply walked toward her bedding, and Santana ignored the crunch of the seashells beneath the taller woman's boots.

Brittany sighed heavily. "I cannot say I didn't consider it," she said solemnly.

Her admission stung a little, but Santana swallowed the knot of disappointment and turned her attention to the steaming broth. "It must be the food that is keeping you here, then," she attempted once more to joke.

Brittany chuckled. "Nay! 'Tis these bloody shells. I'm growing quite fond of the things," she responded as she stepped on a few more.

Santana glanced over her shoulder, but her retort was caught in her throat. With her back to her, Brittany was pulling her wet shirt over her head. She turned abruptly, letting the shirt fall to the bedding, and caught Santana looking at her.

"I…" Santana knew her face was betraying the heat that had suddenly come over her as her eyes fixated on the blonde's exposed chest. She looked quickly away and gestured to the ladder. "There is…I mean, Emma was about your size—she had a few nice dresses for you to wear. Or-or if you wanted a shirt, Garth had a good shirt if you want a dry one," she stumbled out, unable to get the image of the bare-chested blonde Highlander out of her mind.

"This blanket will do for now while my shirt dries," Brittany responded, draping the wool cloth around her shoulders and bringing the ends closed across her breast.

"I made some broth," Santana said, trying to divert her thoughts to something more innocent. "And there is more smoked fish. There is also some dried bread. It doesn't taste too bad with the broth, and—"

"Have you eaten?" Brittany interrupted, causing Santana's rambling mouth to shut with a snap.

The brunette simply nodded in reply.

"You don't need to serve me, Santana. Why don't you go about doing what you usually do at night? I'll take care of myself," Brittany said gently with a warm smile.

As the blonde came near the hearth, Santana moved skittishly across the chamber. She sat on her bedding and leaned back against the cold wall. Picking up a small sack of shells from the floor, she poured them out on her lap. She had already punched a hole in each carefully selected shell with an awl, and she now began stringing them onto a strand of leather. As she did so, she watched the Highlander dip a bowl into the broth.

Although Brittany had draped the blanket over her shoulders, Santana still managed to catch a glimpse of her bare chest every now and then. Santana felt delightfully wicked.

"So what do you do with all of these?" Brittany's soft voice cut through her thoughts, bringing the brunette back to the present.

She knew the blonde was talking about the shells. "I make them into…things."

"What kinds of things?" Brittany asked, genuine curiosity laced in her tone.

Santana shrugged. "Bonny things."

"Then why haven't I seen you wear them?" Brittany questioned as she picked up the bowl of broth and a chunk of dried bread and moved back toward her own bedding across the room. The blanket fell off one shoulder, but to Santana's vast disappointment Brittany caught it and pulled it back on before the brunette could get a good look.

"Because they are impractical to wear," she said matter-of-factly.

"If they're impractical, then why do you make them?" Santana thought it adorable the way that Brittany tilted her head to one side in confusion as she asked the question.

Santana couldn't help smiling at the perplexed blonde. "Because I like to collect them…and look at them." She pointed to the strands of shells hanging from the beams overhead. "And I like to collect them because I walk on the beach looking for things. And I look for things because you never know what treasure you might find."

"Or what trouble," Brittany muttered, lowering herself onto her bed. She nearly sat down on the gift the brunette had left for her. "What have we here?" she asked as she picked up the wooden flute.

"'Tis a cuisle, of course. I found it years ago washed up on the rocks," Santana responded while she watched Brittany barely manage to juggle everything in her hand as she sat back and leaned against the wall, facing the brunette.

"I can see that. Do you know how to play it?"

Santana shook her head. "Whenever I blow in it, there is this horrible noise that comes out of it. Neither Garth nor Emma could get it to play any music, either," she said with a small chuckle.

"But you've heard other people play it before?" Brittany pressed.

Santana hesitantly nodded. "I have these vague memories of sneaking out of my bedchamber and creeping down some ancient stairs to listen to traveling musicians. There was singing and dancing and—" Santana stopped abruptly, shocked at how real the images suddenly seemed.

She looked down at the pile of shells in her lap and tried to blink back the sudden rush of tears that the memory triggered. But she had no past. For so long Santana had remembered so little of her life prior to the day that the sea had tossed her up onto these rocky shores.

"Would you like me to play this for you?" Brittany asked kindly, her eyes overflowing with warmth as she gazed at the brunette.

Santana nodded and quickly dashed away a tear as the Highlander laid the food aside and brought the pipe to her lips.

After testing it a few times, Brittany began to play a melody so hauntingly lonely and yet so soothing, too. It was a song that seemed so familiar to Santana, as though it were a part of her. A part of her childhood, she thought. The notes filled the space between them. The air vibrated with the feeling Brittany poured into the music. Santana saw her close her eyes. Brittany's nimble fingers and lips and breath seemed to be drawing out the very secrets of her heart.

Santana let the string of shells drop into her lap. In her mind's eye she could see a solitary tree, stunted and bent, braced against the wind. Beside it, she saw herself alone on this isle, trying desperately to remember Brittany's face, the feel of her touch…this melody…for the long years after the blonde would be gone. Then Santana also thought of _her_ loneliness in being separated from the people whom the Highlander loved.

When the song was finished, Brittany played another, and another…and another after that. After playing for a while, she stopped and laid the instrument down.

As the notes faded, Santana wiped away a tear. "You play beautifully."

Brittany smiled in genuine modesty. "This is an old and very special instrument."

"I want you to have it," Santana blurted out. When Brittany started shaking her head, the brunette insisted. "You've given me the gift of hearing music again. Please!" Santana couldn't pinpoint why, but it was very important to her that the Highlander keep the flute.

Brittany held the instrument to her heart, sincerity and feeling obvious in her eyes and voice when she responded. "Thank you. But is there anything I can do…well…?" Her words trailed off and her gaze fell from Santana's.

_Before I go,_ Santana thought, finishing Brittany's unspoken words. She _was_ going, the brunette reminded herself. _Soon._

"You already have," Santana whispered, lowering her own gaze to the shells lying in her lap.

The aching sadness gathering within her was growing more painful by the minute. She had lost people whom she cared for before. She had had to learn to adjust and rely only on herself. But this time, with Brittany, Santana knew that she would feel something even more than anything she had felt when Emma and Garth had passed on. They were old and it was their time. Santana knew deep inside of her that this loss would cut her very badly.

Brittany finished her food and sat studying the flute. Santana leaned quietly against the wall and made the effort to string the shells that she no longer found so beautiful. Not long after, they both settled in early for the night, but sleep eluded Santana and minutes rolled into hours. She could hear the dying sounds of the wind outside. Gradually the fire burned to embers and the chamber slipped into darkness.

Sometime during the night, when Brittany's steady breathing indicated that she was asleep, Santana got up and went outside, throwing her cloak over her shoulders as she went out the door. For the first time in days, the wind had dropped off to an occasional sea breeze, and the cold seemed bearable. She raised her face to the sky and gulped a chestful of air. IF she could only force down the painful knot of loneliness that she was feeling.

Makyn still had not birthed her lamb, which surprised Santana somewhat. The young woman was too restless, though, to sit beside the ewe. The scent of dawn was already in the air. She pushed herself to her feet and started walking toward the rocky shores.

The sea, the air, the sky…everything seemed calmer. But not inside of her. Without the distraction of the wind and the storm, the reality of her situation on the Isle of May was suddenly pressing harder into Santana. In all her years here, she had never once considered the possibility of leaving the island. She had never even thought of being forced to live somewhere else. The thought was frightening.

She still had the nightmares from time to time. The fleeting images of a terrified young girl running through dark corridors and passages. And there were other memories, too, that continued to haunt her. Faces that she could put no name to.

Eleven years had passed, and she had grown less and less eager to find the answers to her childhood questions. Emma and Garth had protected her and cared for her, and Santana had gradually become more than happy to forget the past. She had never thought beyond just living the rest of her life right here.

She stood on the edge of a rock and let the cold water lap up to her shoes. Looking around her, Santana realized that she was standing on the same rock that she had dragged Brittany onto not so many days ago. How had everything changed so quickly?

In a storm the blond had come to the May. Like a storm she had thrown Santana's life and what she had always thought she needed into total disarray. Restless and confused, Santana pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear and braced herself against a gust of wind whipping off the gray-green sea.

Then, far to the north, she saw them riding the swells. Feeling a sense of panic rise in her chest, Santana strained her eyes to be sure.

Boats.

They were coming for Brittany.

* * *

Brittany woke with a start. She sat up, unsure for a moment if Santana had called her name or whether she had dreamed it. The Highlander glanced immediately across the room. Santana's bed was empty.

The brunette called her again. Her husky voice came from outside the prior's house. In an instant Brittany was up and reaching for her shirt when Santana dashed into the chamber.

"They're coming!" she said breathlessly. Santana was a whirlwind of motion. Brittany didn't think that the islander even knew that she had pulled her shirt down over her head and was adjusting her tartan on her shoulder. "Down the east side of the island. I saw them. We must make a fire. Signal them so they know you're here," Santana continued to speak hurriedly. Her fingers were flying as she attempted to help Brittany finish dressing. But she never once looked up into the blonde's face.

"'Tis important where you set up the fire. If you do it by the inlet, then 'tis an invitation for them to come ashore there. If 'tis on the high rock on the island, then you are only warning a ship of the dangers of the island reefs," the brunette babbled.

She continued on, but Brittany was in no hurry. The morning light cast a soft blue tint across the chamber. Santana's olive cheeks were flushed with color. The smell of the sea and fresh salt air surrounded the brunette like the most exotic and enticing of aromas. And Brittany was once more swept away by the shorter woman's beauty.

"Come with me," the blonde blurted out, surprising herself.

All of Santana's frantic movements immediately ceased. Dark, astounded eyes stared up at her.

"Aye. Come with me, Santana. I will take you to the Highlands. My family will welcome you. You will like Benmore Castle, and you can stay there as long as you wish," Brittany pleaded, wanting desperately to have more time with the other woman.

"Nay!" Santana whispered softly, regretfully. "I cannot."

Brittany tried to reach for her. "Santana—"

"Don't!" the brunette said more firmly, taking a step back. "But you must go. Now. Please! Get them to take you to the mainland."

Brittany paused. Her mind raced with arguments, but Santana had already heard them.

"And please don't tell them about me. Don't say anything about Garth and Emma being dead. Please," Santana begged, placing a soft hand on Brittany's cheek and looking deep into her blue eyes, sending a shiver of emotion down the blonde's spine.

Despite her desire to pick up the brunette and haul her to the boats with her, Brittany knew that she could not convince Santana of that at that moment. So she nodded her assent, feeling no enthusiasm.

Santana reached down, picked up the flute, and put it in Brittany's hand. "Now go!" she urged the taller woman.

Santana left her no choice. Frustrated, angry, a chill of desperation settling in her belly, Brittany strode out of the room and across the moor to the sea.

* * *

**A/N: Aw, poor Santana and Brittany :( Will Santana's stubbornness keep them apart? Will they ever act on their so obvious feelings? We'll see! ;)**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! Chapter 7 will be up in a week. Don't know if it'll be Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, but I definitely plan on a week. :) If it's not up in a week, please feel free to bug me, if you feel so inclined ;) Bye!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey, everyone! :)**_  
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**Anonymous review!  
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**_Anon_ - I'm glad you liked Santana's POV in the last chapter :) And that you're liking this story so far :D Of course she declined the offer. It's Santana. Little Miss Stubborn ;) Oh, haha, thanks! I'm glad you liked _A Dangerous Masquerade!_ And...yes, I fully intend on getting that epilogue finished. I just got really busy working two jobs, and keeping up with this story, so the epilogue kind of took a back burner to all of that...Sorry! Anywho...I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for the review(s)! :D  
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**Without further ado, the chapter. :D**

* * *

_I will take you to the Highlands. My family will welcome you…_

Santana shook her head to clear the echo of Brittany's words from her mind. They were _her _family. _Her _people. Santana was nothing more than a stranger whom Brittany had run into during a storm. She didn't need a complication like Santana in her life.

Santana walked as far as the ruined building of the chapel, watching the blonde until she disappeared over the crest of the hill. Brittany never once looked back.

Santana stabbed away a tear. She could feel a sob rising into her throat and fought to choke it down.

Gone. Brittany was gone.

The urge to run away boiled up inside of her. The unfairness of what the rest of her life was to be was tearing away at her stomach. She thought of the blonde standing by this ruined chapel, looking in. Santana could not take it any longer and turned to the western cliffs. Where would she go, though, to escape her thoughts of Brittany?

Before she could take a step, however, Makyn's bleating penetrated Santana's distress.

Without a moment's hesitation, she hurried to the animal. The pregnant ewe was still lying on the dried bedding. This was not the way the births normally went. If the ewe were not having difficulty with the lambing, she would have delivered by now. Santana immediately crouched beside Makyn and, pushing up her sleeves, tried to examine her for trouble. She had stood by many times as Makyn and the other ewes had given birth. For the most part, the sheep would simply lie down and birth a pair of lambs. Once or twice, though, she had watched Garth try to help a mother having difficulties.

Santana put a tight leash on her emotions and focused on the struggling ewe.

"Come on, mother. What is wrong?" Santana asked softly.

Makyn continued to cry out, but didn't move when Santana began checking her. It didn't take long to discover the cause of the sheep's trouble. She could feel the head, but there was only one leg of the lamb in the birth canal. The other leg must be stopping the birth from proceeding. And if Santana didn't do something, Makyn and the lamb could both die.

An instant of panic took hold of her as suddenly she couldn't remember what to do. None of the births that she had witnessed had involved trouble like this. As the complaints of the ewe tore through her thoughts again, though, Santana forced herself to focus on the laboring animal.

"We need to put this right, now, don't we?" she spoke gently to Makyn as she rubbed the sheep's head soothingly.

Santana tried not to think about the large amounts of mucus tinged pink with blood that were darkening the dried seaweed bedding. She forced herself to ignore Makyn's pained cries and futile struggles. Instead, she closed her eyes and, feeling with one hand, physically pushed the lamb back up the birth canal. It was hard going, but when there was space, she slipped her fingers around the shoulder, trying to find the missing leg.

Finally, her fingers wrapped around the thin leg. Somehow it must have caught on the rim of the ewe's pelvis. Working carefully, she started pulling it into the birth canal.

Santana's efforts had an immediate effect. As soon as the leg was free, Makyn took charge. Two feet appeared first. With the knees came the lamb's nose. Santana held her breath as Makyn paused before pushing again. And then the head and shoulders were out, with the rest of the lamb following.

Tears were coursing down Santana's face, and she sat back on her heels in awe as a second lamb slipped out with none of the trouble of the first one.

Makyn acted as if nothing were amiss and started cleaning both of her lambs. One of them was white and the other nearly black.

Her laughter mixed with her tears as Santana watched the new family. Animals were so much more resilient than people, she thought as few short moments later as the lambs tired to push themselves to their feet. The ewe stood up and shook herself before lying down again a few feet away.

"You're welcome," Santana whispered, letting out a breath of relief.

Clouds were racing overhead, although the wind was barely a breeze now. The morning sun was shining in its full glory. Thoughts of Brittany pierced the moment, and Santana looked with a frown at the hill to the east. The weight in her chest returned instantly. Santana started to wipe away her tears, but she noticed her hand and arms and sleeves were a mess, covered in blood and mucus and dirt. She rose to her feet and found the front of her dress soaked and stained, too.

Santana turned to go inside and change, but stopped dead in her tracks.

"And I thought you would be spending the day pining over my leaving!"

* * *

Brittany saw her blink once, twice, as if she couldn't really believe what she was seeing. The Highlander pushed away from the wall of the old church she was leaning against and took a step toward the brunette.

"Well, is this the only welcome I get?" Brittany asked the dumbfounded woman in front of her, her teasing tone going unnoticed by Santana.

"You…you're still here," Santana responded, her voice reflecting the astonishment that was written clearly across her face.

Brittany cast a quick eye over her soiled dress and tearstained face. Santana was a mess, to be sure. But a very beautiful one.

"Why? Why didn't you go?" Santana asked, staring bewilderedly into Brittany's eyes.

"I decided the sea was still too rough," Brittany shrugged as she took a step closer to the brunette. "And there was the problem of not knowing who it might be that I was entrusting my life with. And then the question of which village these fishermen were going back to. And then the hardship of finding a way back to Benmore Castle."

Santana scoffed. "Those are not very good reasons."

"Aye," Brittany consented, smiling sheepishly as she touched the flute at her belt. "The truth is, lass, no one has ever complimented me on my musical talent before you. How could I go?" Brittany said, smiling warmly as she came even closer to the shorter woman.

Santana smiled, but shook her head.

Brittany halted only a breath away. Their clothes didn't touch, but Brittany could almost feel the heat emanating from her body. She reached out and looped a finger around a few dark, dancing tendrils of her hair. Santana's face was lifted up to hers.

"Why did you come back?" she pressed, apparently unwilling to let the subject drop.

"I couldn't go, Santana. Not without you," Brittany murmured, her tone thick with emotion as she softly cupped Santana's cheek with one of her hands.

Fresh tears dropped onto the brunette's cheeks, which Brittany was quick to wipe away gently with the pads of her thumbs, and a world of hope shone in the dark jewels of her eyes.

Brittany glanced quickly toward the animals. "That was the most amazing thing I have ever witnessed. How you helped her! I felt such…I don't know how to say it! Nothing has ever made me feel the way I did watching you. Watching them," Brittany gushed with a bright, proud smile on her face.

Santana's dusky cheeks flushed prettily. "I didn't do much. 'Twas Makyn's doing. 'Twas only nature at work."

They both looked at the lambs, who were now nursing. Everything seemed so perfectly normal.

"Well, those wee beasties are contented enough. You, on the other hand, lass, are the one who needs some tending," Brittany teased, beginning to lead her toward the house. Stopping at the well, the blonde drew a large bucket of water.

"You should have gone with those fishermen. You have only made it more difficult for both of us by staying," Santana said softly, almost despondently, as they entered the house. "You belong out there. Among real people. Your _own_ people. And I belong here," she finished hopelessly.

Brittany frowned resolutely. "I don't believe you belong here, Santana. The people who cared for you are dead. The churchmen who own this island will think of you only as a nuisance."

This time the brunette didn't argue. She simply turned her back to the blonde and poured the bucket of water into her wash basin so that she could clean her arms and face. Brittany put the water near the heart and built up the fire until the room started losing some of its chill.

Santana finished washing her arms, hands, and face and reached for the dress hanging on a peg—the same one she had been wearing that first night. She looked over at the blonde. "Turn around," she ordered.

"Let me help you, Santana," Brittany said gently.

"I'd do better to dress myself," Santana retorted, laughing somewhat uneasily.

"I was talking about helping you with your past," Brittany corrected.

"Oh!" Santana exclaimed, her cheeks once more flushing a deep red.

"_And_ the dress," Brittany added, smirking devilishly. She couldn't help herself.

Santana rolled her eyes and chuckled. She put her hands on Brittany's shoulders and physically turned her. The blonde suppressed her smile and walked to the window. In the distance, Brittany could see the whitecaps on the sea.

There had been more than the birthing of a pair of lambs that she had witnessed outside. Watching Santana, Brittany had seen her self-reliance and her readiness to act, but she had also seen the brunette's frustration, her fears, and her unhappiness when she had looked off in the direction that she had gone. For an old hermit—or even a husband and wife—to choose this lonely life was one thing. It was not right for someone Santana's age—it was not right for Santana—to be all alone.

"Are we friends, Santana?" She had to ask.

"I have never had a friend before you. So I suppose we are," Santana responded, somewhat distantly.

"Then do you trust me?" Brittany asked without turning around. "Do you believe me when I say I genuinely care about your safety…about you as a…a friend?"

"I do," came Santana's short reply.

Santana's immediate answer gave Brittany the confidence she needed. "Then why don't you tell me how you came to be living on the Isle of May? And why is it that you are so determined to stay here?"

There was a long pause before she spoke. "I am needed here."

"Santana, this island does _not_ need you," Brittany stated firmly. There was no sound of movement behind her, so Brittany turned around. Santana had changed her dress and was standing beside the hearth, quietly braiding her hair. "I don't mean to belittle the feat you accomplished today or anything else that you do here. But for centuries these buildings have stood—such as they are—and for centuries more they will stand, too. What you cannot ignore, though, is the very real risk that you take living on this island alone."

Santana would not look up at her. Brittany could no longer keep her frustration from her voice. "There are hundreds of ships that sail past here every year. More of them all the time. And there are many sailors who are…well, not as honorable as I am. Santana, you cannot even guess how low some of these men are, or how unspeakably they might behave if they were to find you here alone."

Santana turned her back to her.

Irritated, Brittany closed the distance between them and turned her around, staring fiercely into Santana's deep brown eyes. "Give up this stubbornness. I plead with you as a friend to talk to me. To let me help you," Brittany finished, her gaze softening and her grip loosening just a bit on the shorter woman's shoulders.

"I cannot go back with you to your people," Santana responded firmly. Her dark eyes were determined.

"And why not?" Brittany asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Because I am not helpless. I can take care of myself," Santana spat back.

Brittany had to fight the urge to shake her for all she was worth. "And you _will._ But you don't have to stay here to prove that. And no one would think you are helpless just because you come back with me."

She shrugged off the blonde's touch and backed away, her eyes brimming with fear. "It has been so long," she murmured. "I don't even know how to live among people anymore."

"Garth and Emma were people. I'm people," Brittany reasoned.

"You don't understand," Santana said, looking away from the Highlander's prying eyes.

"Then _make_ me understand," Brittany said, taking a step closer to the brunette once more.

Santana pressed her fingers to her temples and turned her back to the blonde again.

"I am not giving up, Santana," Brittany said with conviction as she again approached the other woman. This time, Brittany took Santana's hand in hers and held it until the islander turned back around to face her. "Make me understand," Brittany repeated tenderly, looking straight into Santana's troubled eyes.

Silence hung in the room like the mists over Loch Ness. Brittany didn't let go of her—but didn't speak either—as Santana's struggles deep within her heart showed plainly on her face.

"We belong to _places_, Brittany," she finally cried out. "You belong to…to Benmore Castle. I belong—"

"Don't start that again." The words spewed out more harshly than Brittany had intended. "People move to new places and fashion new lives for themselves all the time."

"But those people have someone they can go to, or travel with. They are _not_ totally alone." She yanked her hand free and wrapped her arms around her middle. "I have no one, Brittany. _No one._ And I am dreadfully afraid of losing what I have here. As perilous as living on the May seems to you, it is all I have," Santana finished despondently.

She hastily moved to the ladder leading up to the loft area above. Brittany could only watch in silence as she climbed the rungs and disappeared.

She turned and looked into the fire, fighting the urge to go after the stubborn brunette.

By the devil, she had only just finished her schooling. Now was the time for her to live recklessly. To pursue her dreams of sailing the high seas. To live the life of a pirate. To take what she wanted. When she wanted. This was Brittany's time to have a hundred women in a hundred ports, without a whit of worry or regret.

At the same time, another voice argued, Brittany had made a choice less than an hour ago not to leave this island when she had had the opportunity. She had chosen not to leave without Santana. By Saint Andrew, everything was becoming too complicated.

Brittany quickly realized that her own confusion was a separate battle—one that she would need to fight some other time. She climbed the ladder after Santana. Reaching the top, Brittany found her sitting cross-legged beside the old sea chest—the same one the blonde had opened the last time she came up here. Santana had the top open, and she was touching something inside.

"This is where I might be able to help you," Brittany said reassuringly. "Perhaps you are not as alone as you think! It may be that there are people out there who are kin to you. I mean, perhaps if you could at least tell me when it was that you came to the Isle of May, then I can—"

"Six." Santana's attention was completely focused on something she was holding in her hand. "I was six years old."

Brittany saw her lift a child's dress from the chest and lay it in her lap. Brittany remembered the one she had found in a mending pile downstairs. Santana took out the cap next, and then the shoes. And then the blonde saw her take out the jeweled cross. Santana stared down at it.

"There was a shipwreck. I don't know if there were any other survivors. But I was the only one who washed ashore here on the May."

Brittany approached her and knelt down on the floor next to the brunette. "Were your parents in the same shipwreck?" She asked cautiously, gently.

"I wish I knew," Santana choked out. She hastily wiped away her tears. "There are so few things that I remember from before coming here. My name, my age—those I recall. Everything else, though, is hidden in a thick fog."

"But there are things that you do remember. Last night when I was playing music for you, the songs tickled something in your memory. You had heard that music before," Brittany stated, trying to get Santana to keep talking and not shut down again.

Santana nodded solemnly. "Aye. Sometimes there are recollections that rush back to me. Faces that I cannot put a name to, or places that I cannot identify. Then there are other times when my mind brings a scene to life and I feel myself watching it. 'Tis like a dream, as I'm on the outside of it, looking in. But then it becomes a muddle again, and none of it makes any sense," Santana revealed, her voice quavering with emotion. "And then there are the nightmares. There is one in particular that comes back over and over."

Brittany held her hand tightly. "Can you tell me about it?" She whispered softly.

She saw Santana's chin tremble. The brunette squeezed her hand back just as tightly and took a deep breath. "'Tis always at night. There are loud noises all around me—like people screaming. And I am a wee lass running scared. There are dark stains on my nightgown, on my hands and feet. I am clutching something in my hand. And there are footsteps behind me. Someone is about to catch me. And then I come face-to-face with a wall of fire. There is no place else to go. And the footsteps are right behind me. I always wake up then. And my chest is pounding. And I am sobbing." As she finished, Santana couldn't hold it in any longer. Her voice broke and the tears began to fall freely.

Brittany pulled the brunette against her, and Santana came willingly. As Santana cried softly as she nuzzled her face against the blonde's chest, Brittany found that she had to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Santana. I am very sorry," Brittany murmured as she held Santana in her arms, rocking her slowly back and forth. She pressed her lips against the islander's dark hair, and her hands caressed Santana's back. The strong surge of protectiveness rushing through Brittany was as unexpected as it was powerful. There had to have been an attack on wherever it was that the brunette had lived. But for her to remember and reveal the painful memories made Brittany realize how truly great Santana's trust in her had become. "How did Emma and Garth find you?" Brittany asked quietly as she stroked Santana's dark tresses with her hand soothingly.

Santana let out a noise that sounded halfway between a sob and wry chuckle. "Washed ashore in the same place where I found you. Unconscious."

"Wearing these?" Brittany asked as she pointed to the child's clothing.

Santana nodded and slowly pulled out of the blonde's embrace, much to Brittany's chagrin. "The things in this box are ht only things I have left of that life." Santana clutched the cross in her fist and brought it to her chest.

"This cross must be what you are holding in your dream," Brittany reasoned.

Santana's dark gaze met hers. "Nay, 'twas something else. The nightmares are so real that I can almost feel it. I am holding a brooch in the palm of my hand," Santana told her, looking down at her palm, as though she were seeing it there at that very moment.

A spark of hope ignited in Brittany's mind. With her thumbs, she wiped away the tears from Santana's olive cheeks and looked intently into her face.

"Is there any way you can describe this brooch to me? Did you ever see it—in your dream, I mean?" Brittany asked gently, but with renewed energy.

Santana nodded quickly. "Aye, a few times in my dreams I've seen it. And then later." She stopped and searched inside the old sea chest again. From the very bottom, she slowly withdrew a flat object wrapped in leather.

Brittany's gaze followed her hand's movements as Santana opened the packet.

"I didn't find this until a month ago, after Garth and Emma were both dead. They had it hidden up here beneath everything in the chest," Santana explained. In her hand she held a brooch. Even in the dim light Brittany could see the red stone set in the engraved silver. "This is the brooch I have been seeing in those dreams," the brunette said as she handed it to Brittany.

On the brooch's broad, sturdy pin, a swan rising from a coronet had been engraved. Brittany read the motto on the circle of silver, and her breath caught in her chest. _Endure Fort._ The words meant "Endure with strength."

"I think…I think I might have been holding this or wearing it when I washed ashore," Santana continued, oblivious to Brittany's realization. "But what I don't understand is why those good people hit it away for all these years. They never said a word about it to me."

"Lindsay," Brittany whispered. "This is the coat of arms of the clan Lindsay, in the Highlands of Angus."

"How do you know this?" Santana demanded, her confusion written all over her face.

Brittany tore her gaze away from the brooch and looked at Santana as she explained calmly, "Lindsay lands lie directly to the east of Pierce holdings. They are near the coast, with only the land of the clans Farquharson and Gordon between us."

Brittany thought back in time. There was something gnawing at the edge of her memory. Eleven years ago. She had been seven years old.

"It must have been about the same time that you disappeared that Sir Stephen Lindsay, the laird of Ravenie Castle, was killed in an attack." Brittany looked into Santana's dark eyes, at her raven hair, at her angular features. There were similarities, to be sure. Then, suddenly, the memories poured in. The stories she had heard.

"Aye, on the same night and during the attack, his only daughter was whisked away by some of the laird's warriors and servants." Their gazes locked. "The lass was never seen again. Some thought she was killed, too. Others assumed she had been hidden away for fear that those who had murdered the father would harm the child. The identity of the attackers was never discovered, I think," Brittany finished, her eyes dancing as she recalled what she had been told of that night.

Santana's eyes were wide. The teardrops shone on her skin. A look of disbelief continued to play across her features.

"But I believe there are many who are still hoping for the daughter's return," Brittany continued, smiling warmly at the brunette. She cradled Santana's face in her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "Like your mother, Santana."

* * *

**A/N: Ooo, Santana's past has been revealed! Kind of. ;) Much more to come in future chapters! **

**Also! Now that I'm finished my summer internship, I will have a lot more time to write, so...another chapter should come MUCH faster than it has been recently. That's good, right? ...Right? ;)  
**

**Okay, I'll be back soon with chapter 8. Bye! :D  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello, readers! :)**

**I haven't done this in a while, but I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has alerted-I'm sorry..._followed_, favorited, and reviewed this story! Also, thanks to those who are simply reading this story.  
**

**Anyway, I don't really have much to say, except that this chapter is dedicated to the person who distracts me the most. She knows who she is...hehehe ;)  
**

**Anyway...Happy reading! :)**

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Santana stared incredulously at the blonde, certain that she had heard her wrong. "What did you say?"

"Lady Clara Lindsay, who was Clara Lopez, a Spanish Duchess, before she married your father, survived the attack and the burning of the castle. I remember what happened now. Your mother is alive and well. She is living somewhere in the Lowlands—or the Borders—near her own family, who had settled in Scotland after her father's reign as sovereign of the Spanish Netherlands in the Low Countries ended twenty years ago," Brittany told her, smiling brightly.

The sudden flash of hope was so unexpected that Santana didn't know how to react. "How…how do you know all of this?" she asked the Highlander slowly, a thousand questions running through her mind at once.

"Every Highlander knows what goes on with the other clans. Word travels on the wind there, and this was no wee bit of news. Besides, as I told you before, only the Farquharson and Gordon clans separate us from the Lindsays. We are practically neighbors," Brittany explained, still smiling widely in excitement at her revelation.

Santana's brow furrowed a little more as she took in this information. "You are not just saying all of this to—to make me leave this island with you?" she asked, still not quite believing everything and not sure what to trust.

Brittany sobered instantly. "What do _you_ think?" Her soft and gentle hand was still cradling the brunette's face. Santana looked into the blue sea of Brittany's eyes and had her answer.

"Nay, I think you wouldn't." The words tumbled out of Santana at the same time as she realized the significance of all that she had just learned.

She knew her name—who she was and where she had come from. Her mother was alive. She was not alone anymore. She didn't have to spend the rest of her life on this island, frightened and uncertain of what was to happen to her the next day.

The realization swept through her like a whirlwind, wreaking havoc with her emotions. She didn't know what to think first, what to do. Her mother was alive. Santana laughed, and then the tears began to fall.

Her father was dead. Santana didn't remember him, but she still had lost him in the same instant that she was told about him. Many questions battered away at her. The confusion of that night and what exactly she had witnessed that made her bury the memories so deep in the recesses of her mind.

Brittany took the troubled brunette into her arms. "I am sorry, Santana. I know this is a great deal to sort through," she murmured tenderly.

Santana shook her head against the blonde's shoulder. "Nay, thank you." She wrapped her arms around Brittany's slightly taller frame so tightly that there was not a breath of air left between them. "Thank you. Thank you," the brunette repeated quietly.

Santana was so lost in her own happiness and her own thoughts that it was some time before she noticed the difference in the other woman. Brittany continued to hold her, but Santana could feel the tension that had entered the blonde's body. Santana's anxiety again asserted itself. She pulled away.

"There is more that you are not telling me," she said, wiping at the wetness on her face.

Brittany shook her head. "This all happened so many years ago. I am just impatient with myself for not remembering more—remembering the details—of what was said about the people who supposedly had been behind the attack," she admitted, frustration clear in her voice.

Santana placed a hand on the Highlander's shoulder and pushed herself to her feet. The power of nightmares lay in how real they seemed. Perhaps, she thought, in how much reality was contained in them. If she were to look back closely enough, if she could force herself to remember the details of the dreams, then perhaps she could recall more of what she had witnessed as a child.

Right now, though, another problem was pressing—the person she had become. Santana looked down at her simple and tattered homespun dress, at her work-roughened hands. The thought of what a noble lady named Lady Clara might think of the commoner who claimed to be her daughter was distressing.

Brittany must have been reading her thoughts. "Santana, I know that you must be anxious about being reunited with your mother again," she began gently, standing up as well. "But why not come back to Benmore Castle with me—just for a short time—until a message can be sent to your mother, and arrangements can be made for you to meet?"

Santana had once before rejected this same invitation. Now, though, the brunette found that she felt differently.

Eleven years was a long time. Whatever bond she once must have had with her mother suddenly seemed so fragile, especially considering how little she recalled. Still, though, Santana wanted to go to her. Part of her did, anyway. But Brittany had suddenly become the one person whom she believed she could trust. The blonde was her only friend, and a thought began to emerge in her mind.

"Aye. I will go with you to Benmore Castle. But when the message arrives from my mother, will you take me to her?" she asked, looking deeply into Brittany's eyes.

The blonde nodded, smiling softly. "If you wish it."

Brittany took Santana's hand in hers, entwining their fingers. The Highlander said nothing more, but Santana could see that she was struggling hard to voice something deep within her.

* * *

"You've no need to be doubting what we saw, m'lady," the burly fisherman growled at Quinn Pierce. "Unless Saint Adrian himself has taken to wearing a kilt and walking on the rocks, I say there was a Highlander on that island. And we've ne'er spied one of yours out there before."

"Did she call out to you? Motion for you to come ashore? Did she show _any_ sign that she needed help?" Quinn demanded.

"Nay. Nothin' of the kind. The lass just stood there, a-watching the half dozen fishing boats we had out. Then she just turned around and disappeared onto the island," the fisherman answered.

"And you didn't go ashore after her?" Quinn inquired, frustration clouding her usually even tone of voice.

"What for? No reason to." The man shrugged. "And we had fishing to do. After a storm like that, the fishing is always good. The rest of 'em are still out there, m'lady. I only came back as I'd heard one of your men talking of it in the alehouse last night. He said there was gold in it for whoever helped find your sister. I'm thinking maybe I made a mistake in coming here."

Quinn sighed. "Nay. You made no mistake."

The fisherman followed the Highlander out of her cabin door and waited as Quinn shouted orders to her ship's mate.

"She didn't look like she was in any trouble at all," the fisherman added when the ship's master was done. "And 'tis not like the lass's all alone there. Auld Garth and his wife have been living on that island forever and a day. I cannot say they're very fond of company, but the two are sure to give a visitor a meal or two and a dry place to sleep."

"Very well," Quinn quipped as she drew a bag of gold from her belt and tossed it to the man. "I'll see to it that more of this comes your way if the woman you saw was my sister."

"Aye, m'lady. Wishing ye the best, I am." With a nimbleness that defied his burly physique, the fisherman scrambled over the side and into his curragh.

It was too much to hope, the Highlander thought as she turned her thoughts from the man rowing toward the shore. But they had searched north and south along this coast for Brittany and found nothing. With each passing hour, Quinn's hopes of finding her sister alive had lessened.

And then the fisherman had rowed his skin-covered boat into the harbor.

Perhaps Saint Adrian wasn't finished with his miracles, after all.

* * *

It would be difficult to leave Santana with her kin, Brittany realized as she moved quickly across the island.

There were other things that Brittany remembered. Things that she could not tell the brunette. Hints and accusations, whispers and rumors. Tales that might have been the absolute truth…or the embittered yearning of a clan that had lost its laird. Indeed, the Lindsay clan had seen no justice meted out to Sir Stephen's killers, whoever they were. Whatever Brittany's recollections, however, she realized they were based on fragments of what a young girl had heard years ago from traveling merchants and musicians who had previously passed across the lands of clan Lindsay. None of it was worth mentioning to Santana now. Of that she was certain.

Within an hour, Brittany had built a large fire on the highest point on the island, and another one along the eastern bluffs. She had no doubt that Quinn would arrive soon, even without the aid of all these signs. But Brittany had many questions about how Santana would react when the exact moment arrived to leave the island.

She frowned at the thought of how Santana had sunk into a deep melancholy once she had made up her mind to go. Brittany could understand her perfectly, though. This was the place where she had spent most of her life. These ruined buildings were home. Santana could be herself without worrying whether others would accept or reject her.

Brittany had given her the privacy that she had sought. The blonde had come out to start the fires herself. But now, as the sky and the sea gradually became calmer, she could only imagine how the brunette's fears would be preying upon her.

Brittany turned her steps back toward the building.

The outside, the stairs, even the large living chamber had been transformed in her absence. Everything had been cleaned and swept. Amazed, Brittany looked at the shells sitting in a neat pile by the door.

As Brittany was looking at the changes, Santana descended the stairs of the ladder. Brittany saw that the child's clothing and the cross and the brooch were the only things that the brunette was carrying down. Santana looked self-consciously at her dress when she saw the blonde in the room. Brittany noticed that she had mended the holes. "I looked through everything that might have resembled a dress that Emma had put away up there, but there was nothing better than what I already had on," she said sheepishly, somewhat ashamedly.

"Santana, you look wonderful as you are," Brittany tried to assure her, meaning every word she said.

Santana shook her head. "I know I don't remember much of that other life that I left behind, but I can guess at the importance of good manners and clothing and household skills—all those things that people deem necessary in a young woman who wants to make a good first impression. All of those things that I sadly lack." A blush had crept into her cheeks.

Brittany immediately took her hands. "In what is truly important in life, you are better prepared than most people twice your age. And what you don't know you will learn in no time at all. But none of that is important right now." She lifted the brunette's chin until the shorter woman was looking into her eyes. "Just think of the thrill that finding you are alive will bring to your mother and your other kin. Think of that, Santana, and everything else will work out."

The uncertainty in her dark eyes continued to linger. "I…I don't want to disappoint her, Brittany," she admitted softly.

"You shan't," Brittany said fervently. "You are alive, Santana. _Alive._ No mother would wish for a greater treasure."

Santana looked searchingly into her eyes, and Brittany held her gaze for a long while. Then she smiled playfully and glanced down at the things in the brunette's hands.

"Now, do you mean to tell me that out of an entire loft filled with baubles and keepsakes, that's _all_ you are taking with you?"

Santana smiled fondly at the small bundle. "These are the only things that are mine. The rest belong to this island. Whoever is sent to take care of it after I go should inherit them." She walked away from the blonde and cast a sweeping look around the room. "There was one last thing that I was hoping to bring with me, though."

"If you want to bring Makyn and her wee lambs, it should be no problem," Brittany said immediately, smiling kindly.

Santana smiled at the offer, but shook her head. "I wouldn't want to uproot them. They belong here, and they will be fine until the bishop sends someone else. What I was hoping for…it doesn't really weigh much and doesn't take up much space."

"Anything." Brittany would do anything to see that smile dance in her eyes.

"Those." Santana pointed to the pile of shells, and then shrugged. "'Tis not really for me, but more for you, as I know how you've become accustomed to the sound of them crunching beneath your boots and…"

As she continued talking, Brittany smiled. Santana was going to survive this.

They both were.

* * *

The Isle of May was truly a place of miracles.

_Unparalleled _was the only word Quinn could think of to describe the thrill of relief that had coursed through her at the sight of her sister Brittany standing on the shore of the rocky inlet. And the same word would have worked for her astonishment at the bonny caretaker of Saint Adrian's shrine. But the ship's master had no way to describe her feelings upon learning that she was Santana Catherine Lindsay!

Quinn had a far better recollection than her younger sister of the storm of rumors that had followed the attack on the Lindsay clan eleven years earlier and the young heir who had disappeared. She herself had been introduced to Sir Stephen Lindsay not long before that tragedy. She had watched the man fight in a tournament the king had held in the bowl-shaped rock amphitheater just outside the walls of Stirling Castle the summer before. Quinn had heard stories from her own father, Alec Pierce, about the Highlander's courage and his dedication to his king and his people. And as a child, Quinn had even overheard bits of talk of how beneficial it would be to both clans if someday Quinn were to wed a child of Ravenie Castle's laird.

But life's tragedies take no heed of men's plans. In one fateful night, the Lindsay laird had been killed and the bairn lost. Lost until now.

And Quinn couldn't stop staring at her. Santana was no longer a bairn.

Santana, wrapped in a stout leather cloak, was standing by the railing and listening intently to what one of the ship's mates was telling her about the sailing vessel that was at this minute plowing through the rolling billows northward.

"Could you possibly see fit to give _me_ your attention for a moment?"

Quinn heard Brittany's low growl, but answered without taking her eyes off the enchanting young brunette woman.

"What is wrong, sister? Feeling ignored are you?" she smirked.

"Blast it, Quinn. If you don't look at me, I swear I'll throw you to the fish."

The edge in Brittany's voice was not like her at all. With a show of reluctance, the ship's master drew her attention from the olive-skinned lass and glanced casually at the fierce young lioness beside her. In looks, she and Brittany were fairly similar. But in worldliness and good sense, Quinn knew that she had a few years on her younger sister.

Still, though, there was something in Brittany's look that caught Quinn's attention. It was either her tumble into the sea or her time on the island, but something had changed Brittany. Or perhaps _someone_, she realized.

"I thought you were going below to change into a less ragged shirt," Quinn said, raising a calculating eyebrow as she eyed her sister.

Brittany crossed her arms over her chest. "I went. I changed. I came back. But still you stand here looking like a beggar eyeing a free supper."

Quinn quirked her eyebrow a little higher. She had never seen her sister so worked up before. "Am I, sister?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"Aye. The drool on your chin gives you away," Brittany retorted sourly.

"You're probably right." Quinn gave a small shrug. "But see for yourself. The sea is finally smooth. A fair wind fills the sails. The course is set and all is well. I even have the dubious good fortune of being able to return my wee sister to Benmore Castle in one piece. But on top of all that, I have the bonny face of a young woman to gaze on right here on the deck of my ship. Why should I want to move?"

Quinn watched in amusement as Brittany visibly bristled. "To give her some rest from your lecherous looks! Can't you see that she is nervous about all of this?"

"She looks quite well to m—"

"Never mind how she looks!" Brittany snapped. "I'm telling you that Santana is plenty nervous about people looking at her—particularly pox-ridden, bowlegged old sea rovers like you. And since stepping on board, she has not had a minute's rest from your bloody staring."

"I don't know. She looks perfectly comfortable to me." Quinn smiled mischievously, wanting to tease her sister. "And I'll have you know that I am not pox-ridden. I'm as careful a person as a maid will find anywhere."

"I'm _so _relieved to hear it, you bloody goat," Brittany retorted.

Quinn chuckled and slapped her younger sister on the back. "You, on the other hand, appear totally shaken." The ship's master lowered her voice conspiratorially, as twinkle in her eye as she looked at her taller sister. "Now tell me, you aren't already smitten by this lass, are you?"

Brittany looked away defiantly. "I'm telling you nothing. But I will say that I was the first person to find her there since the old caretakers' deaths. Santana considers me…well, a friend."

Brittany was eyeing Quinn suspiciously, obviously unsure of whether her older sister was teasing her or not. Despite Brittany's roguish reputation with women, it was already clear to Quinn that her sister's relationship with Santana was far different from any she had been witness to before. There was a fierce protectiveness toward this young brunette that was immediately obvious to everyone on board. Indeed, there had been no comments at all by the men regarding the days—and nights—that the two had spent alone on the Isle of May.

Santana's soft laughter at something that the ship's mate had said reached the two sisters' ears. Looking about her, Quinn realized that most of her men's attention was focused on the brunette. From Brittany's scowling face, it was obvious that she was seeing the same thing.

"You cannot blame them. The lass really is quite pleasing to look at," Quinn said casually, wondering how long it would be before a brawl broke out. "And I'm thinking that she doesn't even realize what a bonny creature she is, which makes her all the more special, to my thinking."

As the ship dove into an extraordinarily deep trough between a pair of large waves, a shudder could be felt on deck. Quinn watched as the ship's mate steadied Santana by touching her elbow. The threat of murder on Brittany's face almost made the older woman laugh aloud, but she suppressed her mirth.

"Slow yourself down a wee bit," Quinn suggested placidly. "You still have a long road to travel before the lass is safely settled with her clan or with her mother, as Lady Clara chooses. You cannot allow yourself to get so riled over something as simple as who's looking at her, when there are far graver matters still ahead."

"Aye, and don't I know it! Santana thinks that the only challenge facing her is in getting ready to meet her mother. What she doesn't realize is that she should be more concerned with warding off the attentions of all the people that'll surely be pursuing her. I mean, she is not even considering the fact that as the heir to Ravenie Castle, she now has wealth to go with her blasted looks! Why, that alone will be drawing the wolves to her," Brittany finished, her cheeks flushing with emotion.

"Wolves, you say?" Quinn asked, raising her brow again, trying to hide her amusement.

Brittany didn't notice her sister's teasing. "Aye. Wolves," Brittany repeated fervently. "She is inexperienced in the ways of courting, Quinn. She knows nothing of people's lecherous nature. She could easily fall prey to the charms of any of them, and—"

"Did she fall prey to yours?" Quinn asked, unable to suppress her smirk any longer.

Brittany's head snapped in Quinn's direction. "Of course not. But I…I didn't pursue, and I—" She bristled. "'Twas a matter of honor!" she defended indignantly.

"Let me assure you," her older sister said confidently, "if she managed to survive Brittany Pierce's charm during your time together, then I should say that she is well prepared to ward off any other wolves. In fact, with you acting as her guard dog, I shouldn't think any of us would dare to come within a league of the lass."

* * *

**A/N: Just in case anyone is wondering...NO, there is NO Quintana in this story. Just Brittana. And Faberry, if I can find a way to inject Rachel in to be with Quinn (where she belongs...hehe), but that won't be a main concern of mine for this particular story.**

**Anywho, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I shall be back with chapter 9 shortly! :)  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)**

**I know, a new chapter so soon; it's shocking! ;)  
**

**I won't waste much of your time...I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!  
**

**Happy reading! :)**

* * *

Eleven years had passed, but Santana discovered that she had not forgotten how to ride a horse.

Nonetheless, the long hours they spent on horseback the day they left the ship were a bit much. Having left the great sailing vessel in the narrow bay at the mouth of the river Spey, the dozen riders had worked their way down the winding river valley. On both sides, but more and more to the south as they rode, the gray-green mountains of the Highlands rose jaggedly above them. The air was clear and cold, but by late afternoon Santana was beginning to wonder if she would ever be able to walk again.

She knew it was her own fault that the Pierce women had made so few stops. They asked often enough if she would like to rest. Since she didn't complain or say that she wanted to, they obviously were ones to take her at her word. And so they pressed on.

At one point, the valley—Speyside, Brittany called it—stretched out like a long, broad trencher between round-topped gray mountains to the north and rising forestland of fragrant, red limbed pines to the south. The sparkling river Spey itself wound like a jeweled serpent along the wide floor of the valley. Santana's breath caught in her chest at the beauty of the scene. Farms and pastures adorned the hills, and many crofters came out of their cottages—children and dogs around them—shouting their welcome to the passing riders.

As the sun kissed the western hills in its descent, Benmore Castle came into sight. At the crest of a hill, Brittany touched her arm and pointed to the great castle perched atop a mound overlooking the river. Groves of tall pines rose on the north side of the edifice at some distance, and drawbridges crossed a number of ditches and moats that protectively encircled the high stone walls. To the left, a stone bridge spanned the river on seven arches. Santana gazed for a moment at the tidy village of wood and stone buildings that sat comfortably along the south bank of the Spey.

A few moments later, they rode through the arched entry and into Benmore Castle. Santana slowed her horse and fell behind the others.

Suddenly images rushed through her mind of another time. Another castle. Images of a child looking back from another arched entryway at night. Darts of flame shooting from windows. Men and women screaming and running in every direction. The girl crying and wanting to run back to the keep, but strong hands holding her back. Santana reined in her horse as she felt the grief rising in her chest.

"Are you coming?" a soft voice asked, breaking her out of her memories.

She blinked and saw Brittany on her horse beside her. Santana looked down at the blonde's outstretched hand. Without a second thought, she reached out and took it in her own.

"I…I was back in time. For a moment it felt like 'twas yesterday." She let out a shaky breath. "The visions. The nightmares. I was in another castle. And 'twas nothing like this one. There is peace here. There, chaos reigned and…" She became flustered, embarrassed even to have made the comparison.

"You are safe here, Santana," Brittany murmured softly, warmly.

"I know. I know. I am sorry; I shouldn't have—"

Brittany shook her head and squeezed the brunette's hand, cutting her off. "After so many years away, 'tis only natural that a certain smell, a look, a shadow should bring back memories of what you once knew," she said kindly as her thumb softly caressed the back of Santana's hand. "'Twill get better, Santana. Trust your heart and your judgment. You have the strength to see this through," Brittany finished with a warm smile.

Brittany's words of confidence touched her deeply. Santana took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting Brittany's assurance flow over her. She trusted the blonde as she had never trusted anyone.

"How did you become so wise at so young an age?" she asked as she opened her eyes to look at the blonde once more.

"And is that all that you find interesting in me? My wisdom?"

Santana smiled shyly at the suggestive gleam in her blue eyes. She didn't try to fight the feelings that Brittany brought out in her with a single word or a look or the mere touch of her hand. What was right and wrong was no longer muddled for her. Santana could no longer fight her attraction and her growing affection. She quickly realized, though, that there were others waiting for them as they sat motionless in the entryway of the castle. Blushing, Santana snatched her hand away and nudged her horse forward.

As they rode into the courtyard, Santana paused at the movement and the colors of men and women scurrying about to their tasks. The close was ringed with buildings huddled beneath the curtain walls. All around her people bustled about, obviously happy and safe and content.

Her gaze traveled upward. On the wall of a great building across the close, a large stone medallion displayed the Pierce family crest. Santana's eyes were drawn to the lion at the top of the shield.

She stole a glance at Brittany riding beside her and couldn't help saying her thoughts aloud. "I see the resemblance," she whispered to herself. "Blonde, blue eyes, majestic, untamed, fierce—"

"And hungry!" Brittany growled lowly, playfully, apparently having heard the brunette's musings. Santana felt her cheeks heat up again at having been caught in her admiration of the blonde, as she quickly looked away.

To calm herself, Santana surveyed the entire interior of the castle courtyard. With its three towers, Benmore Castle was far more impressive than she could have imagined.

Brittany was reading her face. "From the outside it has the look of a fortress. But inside—you will see for yourself—Benmore has many comforts."

Santana heard the pride in Brittany's voice. She longed for that sense of belonging that had always been lacking in her own life.

Sitting astride her horse, though—here in the heart of the Highlands—Santana promised herself that it would not be like that anymore. She would face the nightmares. She would discover her past, and she _would_ belong.

A group of people were gathered by a stone stairwell leading up to a large doorway. Santana saw Quinn already there, and a moment later Brittany joined them as well. A stunningly beautiful redheaded woman embraced Brittany, and a tall, distinguished-looking man with graying blonde hair enveloped both Brittany and the other woman in his powerful arms.

"It does not matter how old, or tall, or experienced we become, our parents have no reserve in showing their affection," a deep voice said from somewhere below Santana.

"'Tis a privilege to witness it," Santana responded sincerely. She looked down into the smiling face of the man who had spoken to her. He was standing beside her horse, ready to help her down.

"I am Samuel Pierce, mistress. Younger than Quinn by two years and older than that whelp Brittany by three, but smarter than both of them and able to whip the two of them together," he said, smiling cheekily.

His smile was contagious, and Santana could not hold hers back as she introduced herself. "I am Santana Catherine Lindsay." She had never said those words before, and the sound of them fell so strangely upon her own ears. It took great effort to say them without breaking into tears.

Samuel's smile did not drop from his face, but merely shifted to one of warm understanding as he held out his hand to assist her down from the horse. She accepted the Highlander's help and dismounted. "Thank you," she said gratefully once her feet were firmly on the ground once again.

"And you prefer simply to be called Santana. I know," he said kindly, still smiling that brilliant, warm smile that Santana knew was a Pierce family trait. He gently pulled her arm into the crook of his. "In fact, I don't believe that there is much that I haven't been able to learn about you."

Santana tried to gauge the seriousness of his words. Samuel was about the same height as his younger sister, but quite different in some of his looks. His coloring was fair, and his hair was blonde, long, loosely tied, and tumbled over his shoulders and down his back, just like both of his sisters. However, he was much broader than either of his sisters, and his hazel eyes, like Quinn's, were clearly inherited from their father.

"And how is it that you know so much about me when I have just arrived this moment? Or perhaps I should ask _why_ it is that you should bother yourself," Santana inquired, suspicion laced in her otherwise cordial tone.

Samuel shrugged. "Quinn sent word ahead."

"Of course," Santana nodded in response.

"And we learned that Brittany was, unfortunately, still alive," he continued breezily.

Santana stopped in her tracks and stared at him in disbelief.

But Samuel merely nodded and showed no hint of a smile, anything that would tell her that he was jesting. "Aye. And though it might be too soon to tell you this—having just met—I fear I am duty bound to tell you what a mistake you made on the Isle of May in saving that pup's life."

Santana withdrew her hand range of motion the man's arm and looked hard at him, shocked that Brittany's own brother would say such things about her.

Samuel didn't stop there, but simply continued explaining his thoughts to her. "I wanted to know more about you. I wished to know your motivation for fishing her out of the sea. Now, from the wee bits and pieces that I was able to learn, I surmise that you are selfless and have great courage. I myself judge these to be heroic qualities, and that brings us to your mistake in not allowing Brittany to drown. You see, Santana, if heroic is what you were after, then you should have tried to save something worthwhile—a motherless seal pup, or a seabird with a broken wing. Instead, you have succeeded in ruining our delicately laid plans."

Santana could do little else than try to swallow past the huge lump that had formed in her throat. She could not believe what he was telling her! "Your plans?" she managed to croak out.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave her a curt nod. "Don't you realize that Quinn actually had Brittany _thrown_ overboard? And what a disappointment 'twas for all of us…"

Santana stifled her gasp and jumped back as a body suddenly struck Samuel in the shoulder. The man only moved aside a couple of steps, though, and Santana was shocked to see Brittany standing where her brother had been, taking her hand and scowling over her shoulder at the grinning Samuel.

"My sincerest apologies for having left you alone with this chattering ape, Santana." Brittany tucked Santana's hand into the crook of her arm. "I hope he hasn't troubled you with his flapping tongue," Brittany said, sending another glare in Samuel's direction.

"Your timing, sister, is as bad as ever," Samuel teased as he appeared on Santana's other side and managed to tuck her free hand into _his_ arm. "Santana and I were just discussing the merits of drowning you versus throwing you from the tower."

Brittany ignored her brother and spoke directly to Santana. "The problem with the jughead beside you is that he can never forgive me for being so much younger, and yet so much smarter and better-looking," Brittany, flashing her own smirk.

"My problem with _you_ is that—"

"Will you two villains release this poor lass so that she might be properly introduced to our parents?"

They all turned to Quinn, who was scowling fiercely at her two younger siblings. To Santana, it was a fearsome sight to behold. Santana instantly became aware of the watchful eyes and curious glances of the circle of people around them. She freed her hands from both Samuel's and Brittany's arms.

"_I_ will make the introduction," Brittany asserted possessively, taking Santana's hand again.

As the two walked side by side, Santana felt a weight drag her down with every step. She wanted so badly to make a good impression on Brittany's parents. But all of her insecurities bubbled to the surface at once. She had already learned that Lady Evelyn Pierce was half sister to the late king himself. In her entire life, Santana would not meet anyone with nobler blood flowing in her veins. And Santana had already learned that the father, Alec Pierce, was one of the most powerful of the great Highland lairds.

Santana's blood ran cold at the thought of how lacking she was in sophistication and charm. And how horrible she must look in the worn leather cloak that old Garth had left to her! All she knew was the plain and simple life of a crofter on an isolated rock in the middle of the sea.

By the time they had reached the stairway, Santana's insides were as taut as knotted rawhide. Brittany's mother was standing quietly beside her husband, her long red hair loosely braided and cascading down her back in glorious waves. Her blue eyes had the same shade as her youngest child's. The Pierce laird was an older and more distinguished version of Samuel, but taller even than Brittany.

"Welcome to Benmore Castle, Santana," the laird greeted kindly, his voice deep and resonant.

She extracted her arm from Brittany's and curtsied politely. "Thank you for having me here, m'lord….m'lady," she whispered softly, her head bowed. "I am dreadfully sorry to inconvenience you all in this way," she added sincerely.

Lady Evelyn reached out and took hold of Santana's chin, gently raising her face and smiling cordially.

"There is no need to apologize, child," she said kindheartedly as she smiled warmly at the brunette. "We are delighted to have you here. We were so eager to meet you."

Far or near, Lady Evelyn was one of the most striking women Santana had ever laid eyes on. She still thought Brittany was more stunning, but it was clear to the brunette from where Brittany received her beauty. And then, looking into the older woman's face, Santana saw the warmth in those blue eyes and knew that all would be well between them.

"At last!" the laird said suddenly, drawing Santana's attention. "Finally I get a chance to thank this water faerie properly for saving our daughter's life!" he exclaimed, beaming the Pierce family smile at Santana.

The brunette held his gaze, but felt herself blush once more, hoping against hope that her olive skin tone helped disguise at least a portion of it. "I did no such thing, m'lord. I mean, 'tis not that I _didn't_ intend to save her life, but she was fine…well, without me. I just don't deserve any gratitude."

"Nor blame either, I suppose?" At Samuel's comment from behind, everyone broke out in laughter.

"Smart woman, I'd say, not taking any responsibility for her," Quinn injected, drawing another laugh from the family and those gathered around.

"Don't you pay any attention to them!" Lady Evelyn scowled at the rowdy group around them.

"I shan't, m'lady. No amount of banter could hide the affection that exists between them," Santana responded, smiling warmly at the older woman.

Her comment earned howls of protest from the three Pierce siblings, but it obviously pleased the mother. Santana realized that sometime during this introduction, she had totally lost her nervousness.

Lady Evelyn wrapped an affectionate arm around Santana's shoulder and turned her toward the door. "Why don't you come in with me and let my children have your things brought in?"

Santana couldn't stop another blush from spreading on her face. "I am afraid I have nothing else. A woman doesn't need a very large wardrobe when she lives alone on an island."

Her hostess didn't seem bothered by this at all. "I understand completely, my dear. And I think I can be of some assistance to you with that."

Without another word, Evelyn Pierce took Santana's hand and started up the stairway leading to the great hall.

Brittany was beside her in a moment. "Would it be all right if I were to accompany you two?" she asked hopefully.

"Nay. You cannot," Lady Evelyn said emphatically, waving her daughter off and winking at Santana.

When Santana looked back, Brittany was standing on the top step, looking amused. Behind her, though, the two older Pierce children were approaching quietly. The laird appeared perfectly happy just looking on. As the other two women entered the building, Santana heard a shout, and then a cheer went up in the courtyard.

"Is Brittany in trouble?" she asked the older woman when she clearly recognized Brittany's voice as the one who had shouted.

Lady Evelyn merely laughed. "Always. I believe her brother and sister plan to use her as a battering ram."

"They won't hurt her?" Santana inquired, her concern for Brittany's wellbeing obvious in her voice.

Lady Evelyn gently patted Santana's hand and smiled. "Don't worry about her, my dear. She might be the youngest, but she has never had a problem holding her own. And whatever trouble Quinn and Samuel cause her, 'tis only a fraction of what Brittany usually serves them."

"But Brittany has been away studying. What kind of trouble could she have caused from there?" Santana asked incredulously.

Lady Evelyn lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "I have learned not to ask. Since these children have grown up, they have become even _more_ stubborn, and despite two of them being women, they fight about horses, tides, religion, politics, and harvests—you name it, they argue about it. And I am very sorry to say that every other argument seems to be about some young woman. I imagine, though that Quinn and Samuel see your visit as a great opportunity to even the score with Brittany for years of torment she has inflicted on them."

Santana didn't completely understand the meaning of what her hostess was implying. But she had a strong feeling that she might not want to know.

As the two women made their way through the throng of people inside the wide-open doors of the great hall, Lady Evelyn introduced Santana to an aging steward named Robert. The man's thin face creased in a smile as soon as he realized that there were no bags or trunks waiting to be moved upstairs.

"So much like you, m'lady," he greeted affectionately.

"So much, indeed," Lady Evelyn nodded good-naturedly, remembering her own arrival at the castle. "And forget about the arrangements we made before, Robert. I'd like Santana to stay in the roundtower room."

After the steward had hurried away, Lady Evelyn whispered conspiratorially in Santana's ear. "That is my favorite room. 'Tis the same one I stayed in the first time I set foot in Benmore Castle. I know you'll like it."

The rush of emotions came quickly. Santana somehow managed to murmur her thanks. But no words were enough to describe how welcome Lady Pierce had already made her feel.

"Never mind the builders milling about." The older woman waved to some men who were on their way out of the hall, obviously finished for the day. "I believe 'tis Benmore Castle's destiny always to be undergoing some kind of construction. My mother-in-law was determined to change and improve the place. And now, with our children grown and starting their own lives, I am finding myself doing the same thing with my time."

"The great hall is truly magnificent," Santana said in awe as she let her eyes travel the length of the large chamber. Each of the plastered walls was covered with colorful tapestries and hangings of embroidered felt, velvet, silk, and damask. The floors were covered, as well, with ornate rugs, which shocked her. She had never seen rugs on the floor before. These were fine enough for hanging. From behind them, the chatter of castle workers and warriors starting to file into the hall filled the air with laughter and good cheer.

Instead of going directly upstairs, Lady Evelyn led Santana to the left, toward an arch, and into the quiet of a long corridor.

As the two made their way along, Santana asked her hostess about the history of the castle and the obvious improvements that had been made.

Lady Evelyn was genuinely delighted at her interest and made a point of taking her through every room they passed. Santana was shown the latest improvements and those that had been gradually implemented throughout the castle over the past thirty years.

Lady Evelyn's pride in the place she called home had no bounds. Santana saw the leaded-glass windows, the new fireplaces in the living quarters. She was led through the new kitchens and the brew house, and then up a level into some smaller guest rooms directly above. By the time they had worked their way around to the other end of the castle, Santana was amazed at the effort and obvious expense that had gone into the castle's renovation.

Casting a quick glance at the red-haired woman, though, Santana couldn't help speculating whether her own mother was anything like Lady Evelyn. She wondered, too, if the same kind of happiness would have filled Ravenie Castle if her father were still alive and Santana had never been taken away.

She had no answers.

Moments later her hostess led Santana up a winding stairwell. The young woman held her breath as she entered the roundtower room that she was to inhabit during her stay at Benmore Castle.

She let out her breath when she took in the splendor of the room. "'Tis absolutely exquisite," she said, her eyes roaming all around the room, taking it in.

"I remember thinking the same thing," Evelyn whispered, standing beside Santana in the doorway.

The room was large and airy, with leaded-glass windows that kept out the cold, but still provided a sweeping view of the hills outside. The base of each window was corbelled with a bow-shaped oak sill wide enough to sit on. A fireplace had been prepared for an evening fire, and a large canopy bed with richly embroidered curtains sat against an inner wall. The floors were made of oak as well, and an ornate handmade rug covered only part of the burnished wood.

"I have kept everything the same." Evelyn took hold of Santana's hand and drew her into the middle of the room. "'Tis delightful how much you and I have in common."

"Do we?" Santana replied, surprised.

Lady Evelyn nodded, helping Santana out of the cloak and pulling her down beside her onto the bench near a small table.

"When I was a child, I was torn from my family, as well. Drummond Castle, where my mother and I lived, came under attack the same night I was to meet my father for the first time. I left there that night knowing that I might never…see my parents again." Her voice quavered slightly, but Lady Evelyn's fingers were warm and steady as she held Santana's cold hand. "And like you I was raised simply, without the comforts and finery that life in a good family offers."

"But you were a king's daughter. I—" Santana began.

"To those wonderful nuns who raised me, I was a castoff, no different than you were to the couple who raised you," she interrupted as she patted Santana's hand affectionately. "But I don't want to talk about myself right now. The only reason I brought up my own youth was for you to know that I understand what you are going through right now. I was the same way. And trust me when I tell you that it will pass."

Santana stared at their joined hands. "I…I _am_ so nervous. There is so much that I don't remember or know. So much that I am lacking in my education, and manners, and in whatever 'tis that makes someone of fine upbringing behave properly. I was overjoyed to hear that my mother is alive. But now I am terrified to think I should be a disappointment to her." Santana knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. "And we sent a message to her as soon as came ashore. For all I know, she could arrive here any day, and I just know she will see right through me."

"Believe me when I say that I understand your concerns about seeing Lady Clara. But you should know right now that she will not be displeased with you as much as she is with us." Evelyn touched Santana gently on the knee before she could voice an objection. "One thing no one has told you yet is that your mother has a deeply held prejudice against the people of the Highlands," she explained evenly.

"But she married my father," Santana blurted out, completely baffled by this new information.

Lady Evelyn nodded solemnly. "Aye, an arranged marriage. But before that she was Clara Lopez, and she was brought up among her family in the Borders area to the south of the Lowlands, almost to England itself. They say that her heart never left there. Many believe that, for all the years that she lived at Ravenie Castle, she never really accepted her life with your father. To her, all Highlanders were barbarians, and she hated her time there."

Feelings of deep disappointment and despair cut deep into Santana at this news. From Brittany's chivalrous manners on the Isle of May to the warm reception she had received from the rest of the Pierces, Santana saw that these were warm and compassionate people. But even as these thoughts formed in her mind, another disturbing notion struck her. She was a Lindsay and a Highlander, as well. Did that mean that Lady Clara hated her too?

"I've never met your mother, but your father was a good friend to my husband. The few times that I had the pleasure of meeting with Sir Stephen, I was quite taken with his pride in you." Lady Evelyn squeezed Santana's hand gently. "And this is what you should remember, Santana. Despite the difference in complexion, you have his facial structure. You have his spirit. You should be proud of the strong person you are and your ability to survive as you have. 'Endure with strength' is your family motto, and you have lived up to those words. 'Tis quite obvious to me—if only from my three children's response to you—that you are a pearl of great worth, Santana. Don't allow anyone to tell you otherwise."

* * *

**A/N: Oh, no! What will Santana's mom think of her? Will she even want to _see_ her only daughter? We'll find out soon ;)**

**I hope you guys all liked this chapter! I shall be back soon with chapter 10! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)**

**I am sorry for the delay in this chapter. School started, and I've learned that I have to take the comprehensive exams for my MA in a couple weeks, so I've been studying for that like crazy. And...of course, I also have another...distraction that is amazing hehe :) ANYway...that was the cause in this chapter's delay. It will also be the reason why I won't be able to get another chapter out until the first week of October. I'm sorry guys, but the exams are the week of the 28th, and I really need to try to do well on them.  
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**So! The reviewers, to whom I totally forgot to respond:  
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**_gracielovesyou _- Hello! Haha, yeah...Sam is super annoying. There's always one in every family, right? At least Quinn and Brittany are awesome ;) Thanks for the review, like always, and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_Heyaismylife _- I'm glad you're liking this story so much! I'm sorry I dropped the ball on updating this chapter, though...heh...Ahem. Anyway, yeah, Sam is a total douche (your comment was hilarious, by the way hehe), but don't worry...I think you'll like this chapter :) Thank you so much for your review! :D  
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**_wkgreen_ - Thanks for the review, as always! I'm glad you're liking the story so far :) Hmm...will they try to woo her? Or will Brittany put them in their place? This chapter will reveal all ;) I hope you like this chapter! Thanks again for the review! :)  
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**_there. u. are - _I had to put spaces between the dots of your name because it kept erasing the "u . are" part (again, had to use spaces...ugh). I have no idea why...ridiculous. Anyway...Thank you for your review! Haha, yeah, don't worry! No out-of-the-blue love triangles in this story ;) Santana's mom may not hate _her_, but I wonder what she'll think of Brittany's family? Thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_Guest -_ Thank you for your review! Yes...it seems possible that Santana's mom might not like Brittany. Of course...it's also possible that she might not want anything to do with Santana either. Who knows? Except me, of course ;) I hope you like this new chapter! :)  
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**_BetTheDuckisInTheHat - _Thank you for your review, like always :) I'm glad you liked Brittany's family (with the exception of Sam, of course. He kind of bothers me on the show, so...I don't know...I thought I'd make him "nice" and yet...kind of an annoying jerk at the same time lol)! :) I hope this chapter, with 1/3 of it solely Brittana interaction, makes up for last chapter's no interaction! :) And yeah...Maybe her mom won't have a problem with Santana or Brittany, but...others might? It's possible. Or, maybe her mom will be prejudiced just like Santana fears. We'll see what happens ;) I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**_imjustagirl2004_ - Thank you so much for your review! And a double one at that! Super awesome :) I'm really glad you liked those two chapters :D Of course Brittany could get her to open up like that. She IS her soul mate, after all ;) Hehe, glad you thought Brittany's jealousy was funny :) It's always amusing to me hehehe :D I think there is a good possibility of more flashbacks/memories for Santana while she's at Benmore Castle, and (obviously) when she is reunited with her mother. I'm glad you like the sibling dynamic between Quinn, Brittany, and Sam! Although frustrating at times, I'm sure, I think it's interesting too! :) Hehe, yeah, Brittany's mom IS totally awesome :) And, yeah...I think we'll see more of that awesomeness throughout the rest of this story :) You are exactly right...We don't know the true depth of Santana's mom's prejudices, but it could affect her treatment of Brittany and Santana's relationship with Brittany...We'll have to just wait and see what happens! ;) And...I'm sorry I failed you in updating...*pouts* :( Just...you know...things and life got in the way ;) Anywhoozle, I hope you like this chapter! And thanks again for leaving an awesome review, as always! :D  
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**Without further ado, the chapter. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

"Have I ever asked you two for anything before?"

Quinn and Samuel glanced at each other first before turning suspicious faces toward their younger sister. The crowd of people around them laughed.

"Aye, you have," the eldest answered, smirking down at her sister. She was sitting on Brittany's legs. "You're forever asking."

"Every time you start losing, you beg like a bloody friar," Samuel added. He was keeping Brittany's arms and hands pinned to the dirt floor of the stable with great difficulty.

The two had carried Brittany off to the stables as soon as their mother and their guest had disappeared into the great hall. A homecoming tradition since their childhood, their wrestling matches had always been cheered on by the castle's inhabitants. They had been the source of more than a few wagers over the years, as well.

With the older siblings firmly in control, the crowd started dispersing.

"Have I ever asked you two for a favor before?" Brittany repeated.

The two Highlanders again glanced at each other before nodding in unison.

"'Twill not work, fox." Samuel shook his head at the youngest Pierce. "After all the trouble you caused me when the Macgregor lassie was here at Michaelmas."

"And remember the story you told that bonny French creature I had my eye on at Falkland Palace last summer?" Quinn growled, gritting her teeth at the memory. "Something about my wife and two sickly bairns being due to arrive at the castle at any moment, if I recall."

"If you think we will show you any mercy—" Samuel started.

"You can just put it out of your mind," the oldest Pierce sibling finished. "You have been able to escape unscathed before. But 'tis time that you reap what you have sown, now that this Santana has caught your eye."

Quinn didn't even see the kick coming until she found herself hurtling toward the stable wall. Samuel, being bigger, put up a tougher fight, but Brittany managed to slip his grasp and press Samuel's face into the dirt as Quinn fought to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her.

"Now listen to me, you buggering peacocks," Brittany warned, knowing her advantage was momentary at best. "'Tis true I have taken a few opportunities to torment you two in the past, but if you search inside your thick skulls, you might remember that you were never serious about any of those lassies. At best, you were thinking of a night or two of…well, whatever you were thinking of."

"Ha! Looking out for us, were you?" Samuel laughed mockingly. "Our guardian angel speaks! Let me up, Lucifer."

Quinn lowered her voice. "Are you telling us that there is a reason why we _shouldn't_ ruin your chances with this Lindsay lass while she is here?"

"Aye!" Brittany spat out passionately, her eyes blazing with sincerity. "If all I wanted was a roll in the hay, I would have wooed her on the island and let it end there. I'm thinking…well, she trusts me, and I can't let some senseless teasing by you two make her doubt her judgment."

"The devil, you say," Samuel challenged, looking at Brittany incredulously. "If you think you can win us over with such drivel—"

"Aye, if she trusts you, the lassie's judgment is a wee bi—"

"I mean it," Brittany said, cutting off Quinn's remark, as she pushed herself impatiently to her feet. "You didn't see her on that island. I did. I saw her frustration and confusion over who she was and what her future might be. I'm telling you it took great courage—and trust—for her to leave the May and come back here with us. Santana cannot afford to be doubting herself now. She is too vulnerable as 'tis. Until she's at peace with her past, I feel…well, responsible for her. And that means with _everyone_ out there, including you two flap-jawed, boneheaded apes."

"I think that the lass must have fed you some kind of potion when you were on the May," Quinn said half-seriously.

"It may just be a fever," Samuel suggested. "But you didn't, by any chance, inhale any odd-smelling smoke out there?"

"She didn't bewitch me, damn it!" Brittany growled at her two amused siblings.

"So you say, sister," Quinn commented. "But from the moment we fetched you two from the island, you have had stars in your eyes."

"Bloody hell!" Brittany barked, her cheeks tinting a dark shade of pink. "Well, of course I'm…Well, she's a bonny lass! But that's not…Och, by the devil, this is all confusing as hell!" she finally said, throwing up her hands in frustration.

"So we see," Samuel chuckled.

"Listen, you two! The most important thing is for Santana to find her people and get settled," Brittany explained.

"Very well," Quinn replied, growing serious. "What do you want from us?"

"And what will you give us for it?" Samuel added with a teasing grin.

"I want no bloody mischief. Just your best behavior. And perhaps a wee bit of respect," Brittany demanded.

"Nay, you go too far now," Quinn deadpanned.

"I mean it. I need a chance to figure out the best way I can help her. I need to spend time with her, to encourage her as a friend should." She glowered fiercely at the other two blondes. "That is, without your childish comments and antics."

The two older siblings once again glanced at each other first before Samuel answered.

"Well, lass, this may just be the best way yet of getting rid of you. So, aye, I'd say you can count on us."

* * *

Lady Evelyn had assured Santana that she would be more than presentable should Lady Clara arrive even without advance warning.

But Santana had no idea what the mistress of Benmore Castle had up her sleeve.

Not five minutes after Evelyn had left, a cadre of household workers arrived with a tub and buckets of steaming water. Never, as far as she could remember, had Santana experienced such luxury. As she soaked in the jasmine-scented bathwater, she had felt the soreness of her hours in the saddle melt out of her tired muscles. And she had no sooner stepped out of the tub than Lady Evelyn's seamstress and helpers had arrived at the door with strict instructions for measuring and dressing her.

Santana's old dress had been whisked away. Dressed in a new silk shift, the likes of which she had never before seen or felt, Santana stood dutifully on a stool. For what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes, the old seamstress and her assistants tried on and pinned several partially made dresses—garments that Santana suspected had originally been intended for Lady Evelyn's own wardrobe—even if Brittany were accustomed to wearing such clothing on a daily basis, the redhead's frame was much more similar to Santana's than the blonde's.

As they bustled around her, cutting and stitching, Santana had made polite conversation with the women. She had enjoyed getting lost in their Highland accents when they talked among themselves. But at some point during this ordeal, Santana's gaze had turned longingly toward the deep billows of the brightly decorated bed. The mattress looked as puffy as a cloud.

"Will ye look at this bonny lass now!"

"I say one look at her by our lads—and lasses—and she'll not be strayin' far from Benmore."

Santana hadn't even realized that the women were talking about her until the seamstress moved a looking glass and rested it against the wall.

"Look at yerself, lassie. Ye are sure to put the moon to shame."

Santana didn't recognize the young woman staring back at her through the silvered glass. Never in her life had she worn such a fine gown. The deep crimson-colored bodice, laced with threats of gold, clung to her slender frame and then flared to a long, full skirt below the curves of her hips. The tight sleeves hugged her arms while the plush velvet cuff extended over her fingers. Santana eyed the low neckline and blushed at the revealing sight.

"No worries about that, mistress." The seamstress must have followed the direction of her gaze. The woman moved to a chest and came back with a length of Pierce plaid. In a moment, she had artfully arranged it around Santana's shoulder.

"This is absolutely beautiful," Santana whispered in awe, staring at her reflection again. "But to whom does this dress belong?"

"This one was to be Lady Evelyn's—though she was only having it made up to please the laird. The same with those." The woman motioned toward a few dresses that were lying on the bed. "She wanted ye to have 'em until we can make something to yer own tastes, mistress."

"But these are so beautiful!" Santana said shyly. "This is too much! I have been so much trouble already, and—"

"Nay, lass. The mistress is truly enjoying this." The elderly seamstress sent her a toothless smile. "Her three children should be looking to settle down with wives or husbands soon, and with both of 'er daughters choosing lives as sailors, she hardly has anyone to fret over in this way. I'd say yer presence here is more welcome than ye know," she finished with a warm smile and sparkle in her eye.

Santana tried to hide her blush by stepping off the stool. Chatting happily, the women went about their business of hanging the other dresses and cleaning up after themselves.

_Looking to settle down_. Santana pressed her icy hands to her fevered cheeks as the words echoed again and again in her head.

The memory of her time with Brittany on the Isle of May was branded forever in her mind. Every moment they had spent together, everything they had said, the image of the blonde's smile, the gleam that crept into Brittany's deep blue eyes and set her on fire were all branded there as well.

She ran her fingers over the plaid scarf.

But Brittany had plans of her own. She had said it herself, and Santana had heard it again from Quinn on their way to Benmore. Brittany had always wanted to be a sailor. She dreamed of taking command of her own ship and living a free and exciting life at sea.

Santana moved to the table beside the bed and touched the Lindsay brooch. Lady Evelyn's words about the marriage of Santana's parents rushed back to her. She couldn't help fearing that perhaps her own marriage someday might be an arranged one. Her mother had left the Highlands after the death of her father, and Santana wondered why. What dark secrets did Ravenie Castle hold? She carefully pinned the brooch on the Pierce wrap and decided that there was no point in tormenting herself with such thoughts now.

The seamstress and her helpers gathered all of their things and bade her goodnight. Lady Evelyn had told Santana earlier that she would be sending someone after as soon as the seamstress was done.

The noise of revelry in the great hall was loud when the women opened the door to depart. Santana would know almost no one down there. She had been so far removed from crowds for so long. It was almost terrifying to think of being in an assembly of so many people. On top of that, Santana was uncertain even about proper customs and manners at the table.

She looked in the mirror again and wondered for an instant if Brittany would have anything to do with her, now that she was back among her own people. It would be only natural if the blonde decided to distance herself from her now, but Santana found herself hoping fervently that Brittany would not.

Santana gathered up her long dark hair and pulled it over one shoulder. Brittany knew her. The blonde understood her. There was no pretense between them. Santana no longer had a home, but when she was with Brittany, she felt a sense of comfort that she thought might be something akin to belonging. If only Brittany would feel a fraction of what the brunette felt for her.

_Nay._ Santana knew it was too much to hope.

* * *

_Blast this foolish nervousness_, Brittany thought, staring at Santana's door. What had she to be nervous about?

_Everything…that's what._

Drawing a deep breath, she knocked.

Santana must have been waiting on the other side, for the iron-banded oak door swung open immediately. Brittany's breath caught in her chest again at the sight of her.

In the golden light of dozens of candles spread around the chamber, Santana looked absolutely stunning. "Are…are you ready?" Brittany stuttered out, mentally slapping herself for showing her awe so easily.

A faint blush rose in Santana's cheeks as she looked up at the blonde and nodded. "I am. But would you come in first?"

Brittany knew better than to go inside, and she reminded herself now. Still, she found herself taking a step inside the brunette's room. She couldn't help herself.

"You look so…so…" Before she could finish the sentence, Santana had her by the hand and was closing the door behind her. "Wonderful. But I do not think…what I mean is…"

Santana released her and backed away.

Brittany was feeling like an abbey schoolgirl. Santana wasn't looking too steady herself, Brittany thought, watching her put distance between them.

"I missed you," Brittany finally blurted out.

This time a deep blush colored Santana's face prettily.

"You do look stunning, Santana." Brittany frowned. "The problem is, I do not know if I care to trust my brother and sister with escorting you downstairs. I have been trying to—"

"You look wonderful, too," Santana interrupted shyly, but Brittany didn't miss the way her dark eyes traveled the length of her. Santana took a step toward her, and the blonde tried desperately to fight the urge to reach for the shorter woman.

"I told my parents that I would…" Her words died in her throat as Santana unconsciously tossed her dark mane back over her shoulder. The tartan wrap shifted slightly, revealing the swells of her olive skin over the top of the dress. Brittany swallowed hard. "I don't know what my mother was thinking. This won't do at all."

Santana's gaze snapped up to meet the blonde's, her brows knitting in confusion. "What won't do?"

"This dress." Brittany walked across the room with every intention of simply adjusting the wrap. But the next moment Santana was in her arms, and Brittany drew the brunette against her. Time hung suspended between them as her gaze caressed Santana's face before settling on her full lips. "It just needs…"

Brittany's mouth descended and gently brushed against hers, then pulled back. Santana was so soft, so beautiful.

Looking into her eyes, Santana raised a hesitant hand and touched her own lips before touching Brittany's thin ones, feeling the texture. The simple gesture made the blonde's heart pound on her chest.

Brittany couldn't stop herself and captured the brunette's lips once more. This time, though, all the passion she had in her poured into the contact of their lips. Their mouths moved together in perfect harmony for what seemed like ages. Neither woman seemed to care about the party, time, or anything else in that moment. All that mattered was each other.

"This seems to right," Santana whispered breathlessly against Brittany's lips as they broke the kiss in need of air. "I've wanted you to do this for so long."

As her words registered, Brittany's hands immediately dropped to her sides. Silently cursing herself, she tried to take a step back, but Santana touched her arm, her eyes holding Brittany's blue ones.

"What is wrong?" she asked, worry thick in her voice.

Santana was like an angel, but with the images running through her head, Brittany felt like Auld Nick himself. She was the only one Santana knew here—the only one she could rely on. And here Brittany was, ready to take full advantage of that trust. She finally managed to find her voice.

"Nothing," she said gruffly. "I told my parents that I would escort you to the great hall."

"Of course." Santana couldn't hide the note of sadness and disappointment in her voice. "I am ready."

Brittany could not stand that she was cause of the brunette's sorrow. "I've hurt you."

Santana shook her head and tried to turn away, but Brittany took her hand. "Santana—"

"This is all part of your game, isn't it? The game that you said once people play. I should not say…say what I feel. Honesty is not allowed. 'Tis all part of the education that I…that I lack," Santana burst out, tears welling in her eyes.

"Nay, Santana. This is about me and how I feel about you. This is about caring for someone so much that you want to do everything right. This is about responsibility and even about protecting your good name. There is so much that you need to work through right now. Making peace with your past. Finding your family. Nay, I am the one to blame for starting this. I am truly sorry." Brittany pressed her lips gently to the back of Santana's hand, which she was still holding. "'Twill never happen again, Santana. I promise you. You need to know that you are safe with me."

"I do know that," she replied somberly. With that, Santana pulled her hand away and moved toward the door, not once looking up at the blonde.

* * *

**A/N: Awww...So close. Darn that Brittany and her "morals" *shakes fist* I wonder how this will affect Brittany and Santana's relationship...And how are they going to act at the feast? Gotta wait for Chapter 11 hehe ;)**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I will be back with the next one in a couple weeks! :)  
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	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello, readers! :)**

**As promised, a new chapter! :D I know...you were all just _dying_ to see what happens next ;) *Hopefully* I will be able to update regularly for a while :) Until all my work starts piling up even more...then I might have to postpone updating for a week or so. In any case, I will never abandon a story...Just in case anyone was wondering. :)  
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**Reviewers!  
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**_gracielovesyou - _Thank you for the review! Hahaha, well, you know I have to keep you guys interested somehow ;) I'm glad you liked that chapter and I hope you like this one too! :D  
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**_PoseidonIsABeast -_ Thanks for the review! I'm really glad you're liking this story so far :) And yeah...hahaha, Sam was kind of a douche lol. But, no worries, he's cool with everything now ;) I hope you like this chapter and thanks again! :D  
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**_there.u. are - _Thanks for the review! :D Hmmm...but will heads turning be a good thing? Read and find out hehehehe ;) I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_imjustagirl2004 - _Another awesome review :D Hehe, glad you're still liking the sibling dynamic between Quinn, Sam, and Brittany :) Hmmm...yes...perhaps they'll stick to their word or perhaps they'll tease their sister some more. Who knows? Besides me, of course ;) I'm glad you really like Lady Evelyn and how Santana just accepts how she feels and everything :) They're definitely awesome :D I know...Brittany and her "being good" thing is working against her now and...no me gusta. The question is, will she give in to her feelings for Santana, or will she continue "being good"? Time will tell...;) Thanks, as always, for you super wonderful review! I hope you like this chapter too! :D  
**

**That's all for now. Happy reading! :D**

* * *

As they entered the festive great hall, the sounds of music and revelry filled the air. Great fires lit the fireplaces, and food and drink were being carried in by castle workers wearing bright ribbons and followed by ever-hopeful dogs. A number of men playing bagpipes marched around the hall, and children from the village danced happily behind them. On every side, laughter and merriment surrounded the latecomers, and no one appeared even to notice their entrance.

Santana glanced at the long tables filled with men and women of every generation. She saw the Pierce warriors and sailors they had traveled with sitting among them. At the dais, the laird and his lady were obviously enjoying the festivities. Santana could not help wondering if Ravenie Castle at one time had been like Benmore. She took another glimpse of the long tables again. And for a moment she saw in her mind's eye different faces, a different tartan, another clan—a company of rowdy Highlanders sitting around one end of a trestle table with large trenchers of food before them, their boots heavily stained, their tartans covered with the dust of their travels.

Santana roused herself from her reverie as she realized a hush had fallen over the hall. The musicians ceased their playing, and all eyes were upon her. Brittany held on to her hand as the brunette nervously tried to take a step back. She looked down at the dress that had been intended for Lady Evelyn. She stared at the Pierce tartan that covered her tan shoulders and the Lindsay brooch that held it in place, and she wondered if the quiet was caused by an outsider wearing their plaid. Santana had not stopped even to consider the appropriateness of wearing the tartan. Her mind raced to think of what else could cause such a reaction.

"What have I done?" she asked Brittany uneasily.

"You have stunned them with your radiance," Brittany whispered reassuringly. "Because of all the stories, I think they were expecting either a wee wild child…or some haughty Lowlander like your mother."

"But I am neither," Santana murmured solemnly.

"I know that. And they realize it now, too. In addition, you are wearing a Pierce tartan to boot. A bonny sight to their tired eyes, I'm thinking," Brittany said softly, and Santana didn't need to look up at the blonde to know that her crystal blue eyes were shining with warmth and affection. The thought made her smile faintly to herself.

But then the Highlander's words sunk in, and Santana once more focused on the Pierce tartan she was wearing. "Perhaps I should not…" Santana felt her cheeks catch fire. She tried to pull away from Brittany's grasp. "Maybe I…"

Instead of letting her go, Brittany pushed her gently toward the dais. Back stiff, Santana looked ahead and realized that the laird and lady and their two elder children were all standing now and waiting.

The Pierce chieftain came around the table to greet them. "Finally I have the honor of introducing our own faerie to a grateful clan."

Santana dropped a low curtsy before the laird. "The honor is mine, m'lord."

Alec Pierce took her hand, and his hazel eyes were approving when he raised Santana up. He turned her to the silent crowd gathered in the great hall.

"'Tis my honor—my privilege—to give you the angel to whom we are all indebted for saving young Brittany's life. With great pleasure, I introduce to you, my good clanfolk, Santana Catherine Lindsay, the only daughter of my friend, the late Sir Stephen Lindsay."

As the laird paused, the room suddenly erupted with cheers. Santana was embarrassed by all the credit she was receiving with no cause. Before she could gather herself together, though, the laird opened his arms and she moved unthinkingly into his embrace. His powerful, bearlike arms wrapped around her. In a moment, he released her from the hug, but still held her by the shoulders.

"Your father would be very proud to see you tonight, Santana." He placed a kiss on her brow, and Santana fought the emotions welling up inside of her. There was so much she needed to know about her father, about what had happened to him, about the secrets of Ravenie Castle. When the laird let go of her, she turned and found herself enveloped in Lady Evelyn's arms.

"You look exceptionally beautiful. And you move as nobly as a queen," she whispered in Santana's ear. "No more fretting, child. You are ready for your lady mother, whenever 'tis you shall meet again."

* * *

The recollection of their kiss would not leave Santana's mind. Hours later, she could still feel the tingling sensation on her lips and the pounding her heart. At the same time, she was angry at herself for this weakness. Brittany had told her in so many words that kissing her had been a mistake, that it would _not_ happen again. So then why was it that Santana couldn't put it behind her?

Perhaps it would be better if she were to go, she thought, trying to convince herself. Perhaps, with some distance between them, they could both get on with what they had to do.

Santana tossed and turned in the deep featherbed for what seemed like hours. No matter that she was tired; sleep seemed destined to elude her. She finally gave up the struggle and sat up. A full moon had spread its light across the chamber floor like a carpet of blue silk.

Rising, she followed the lunar glow to the window and sat on the window seat. The valley and the endless hills beyond the panes of glass looked so strange and beautiful in the moonlight. As she looked out at the scene, she touched her lips and wondered where Brittany was at this moment.

Forcing her thoughts away from the blonde, Santana looked down at the curtain wall that surrounded the castle, and she tried to remember what it was like at Ravenie Castle. She had a vague recollection of a wee lass spending many nights just like this, a blanket around her to keep out the cold as she looked out at the world from her own quiet perch. There were prayers then for battles to be won and for warriors to come home through those hills to the south. The child would even doze occasionally, waking up with a start when her small chin would drop to her chest.

And then there was that night when violence had battered at the walls of Ravenie Castle. That night of tragedy when her life had changed forever. Santana's past—all the lost memory of her childhood—remained bound to that one night. All the secrets of what took place there still remained trapped within the walls of that castle. And there was mystery about it all that she sensed others knew of but would not voice. She had felt it in Brittany's hesitation. She had heard it in Lady Evelyn's tone tonight. She had certainly sensed it in the Pierce laird's protective embrace.

The tragedy of what occurred had forced her to forget so much. But for Santana to remember again and move on with her life, she knew she needed to go back. She had to go to the place she had once called home. She needed to see it through the eyes of the person she had now become. She had no choice but to go and face the nightmare that had been haunting her.

And she needed to do all of this before she saw her mother again. Whatever was left of Ravenie, Santana knew that the secret to her life lay buried there.

* * *

"But you arrived here only yesterday."

Santana looked into the water running clear beneath the arches of the stone bridge. The neat little village on the bank of the Spey had been bustling with activity. Three healthy-looking little boys were wading at the edge of the cold water with fishing lines in their hands.

"It cannot wait, Brittany. I have already spoken with your parents about it. 'Tis all planned. It only makes sense to go now—the day after tomorrow. If I do not do it now, I might not have a chance again for a long, long time."

"But 'tis at least six hours on horseback each way," Brittany protested. Reaching the end of the bridge, they started up the steep hill toward the castle. "Longer, even, if the rivers are running high."

"The ride presents no difficulty. 'Tis shorter than the ride here," Santana asserted. "Besides, your father said that many times messengers went back and forth between the two castles in a single day. The laird has even arranged for a group of Pierce warriors to escort me. I shall have no problem in making the trip."

Santana saw the disappointment in Brittany's pale face. She had not asked the blonde to go. After last night, Santana did not want to pressure Brittany into spending time with her—or feeling responsible for her. But now the brunette wondered if Brittany was thinking that she wanted to run away—to get away from her.

"You are not truly upset that I wish to see Ravenie again, are you?" Santana asked softly.

Santana saw Brittany's jaw set as blue eyes bore into hers. "'Tis a matter of timing, Santana."

"Is it?" Santana asked, arching an incredulous brow.

Brittany nodded firmly. "Aye. You only just arrived, and there is so much here that I want to show you. I guess I was hoping we could get to know each other without the pressures of necessities…and…" Brittany's voice trailed off as her gaze wavered from Santana's and a faint, pink blush crept up her cheeks.

Santana held back a smile at the sight and looped her arm through the blonde's. "I am going for only one day, Brittany. And you told me yourself that I need to make peace with the past. In talking to your father and your mother, I learned a great deal about my family. Things I never knew. Things such as how much my own father loved me, and how his service to the king kept him away so much. Lady Evelyn told me, too, of the arrangement that led to my father's marriage to my mother. He told me again how unhappy they both were."

Brittany slowed her steps, and Santana's voice quavered a little as she continued. "I have heard a great deal, but now I need to go and see it for myself. I must do this, Brittany. Just as I need to see my mother, I also need to go to Ravenie and reconcile those memories of my father, of my childhood. I need to face the nightmares, too. I have to remember what happened and try to understand why it happened, try to make myself recognize who I really am and if there is anywhere that I truly belong."

Brittany stopped abruptly and turned to her. "You belong with…"

The rest of the words did not come. Brittany's chin dropped to her chest for an extended moment. Santana was overwhelmed by the emotions that the blonde's action—that her unspoken words—brought forth in her.

The sudden realization that she loved Brittany momentarily stunned Santana. All she could do was stare at the blonde and listen to her heart pound in her chest and her blood rush through her veins.

"You never again have to worry about where you belong." Brittany finally looked up at her. Her pale hand reached for her tan one, and Brittany entwined their fingers.

Santana nodded gratefully, but the raw emotions continued to play havoc inside of her. What had Brittany been about to say at first? That Santana belonged with her? _Nay,_ she thought in confusion. If Brittany felt that way, she wouldn't let Santana go so easily. The brunette gently removed her hand from Brittany's.

"I need to do this, Brittany. I need to go back and see what it was that I left behind. But I also need to know that you understand."

Brittany nodded and gave her a small smile. "I do, Santana. I do."

* * *

Night still held both castle and river valley in the folds of its dark cloak. With the exception of the kitchen workers who had roused themselves early to serve a morning meal to the warriors leaving for Ravenie Castle, the rest of the household was still asleep.

Seeing that Santana was not in the great hall, Brittany took a trencher of food with her and went out across the torch-lit courtyard to the stables. She could see that the workers were saddling horses and bringing them out to the pen.

The shadows of the yard were deep, but Brittany spotted her easily as she paced back and forth before the stable door, wearing her leather cloak and looking like a night nymph waiting to steal her heart.

Santana, however, was deep in thought and whirled in the surprise upon seeing the blonde. "What are you doing here?"

"That is no way to greet someone who plans to accompany and protect you on a long journey," Brittany replied with a grin. She handed the trencher of food to the brunette, and she had no choice but to take it.

"But you are not coming. The laird said that he would have someone—a company of your kin—to accompany me. But I never thought he would ask you."

"He didn't," Brittany said with a swift shake of her head.

Santana's brow furrowed even more in confusion. "Then why—"

"I'm responsible for you. You saved my life. I owe you." Brittany internally cringed at her horrible excuse for wanting to be with Santana during her journey.

"Brittany, I cannot allow any sense of debt you feel to push you into coming with me," she protested. "And in the matter of who is in debt to whom, you are the one who saved my life by bringing me—"

"Santana, please let it go," Brittany interrupted again. She cupped the brunette's chin and looked closely into her beautiful dark eyes. "Let me put it this way: I cannot let you leave Benmore without me. I want to come. I have to come."

They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, and then Santana simply nodded.

Brittany was grateful that Santana didn't press her further about her motives for coming. How could she explain something that she couldn't understand herself? Brittany walked to the stables to check on the horses that were being readied. She had had a lengthy talk about Ravenie Castle and the Lindsays with her father last night. She wanted to be ready for what they were going to face—whatever it was. Brittany wanted to be ready for the Lindsay clan's reaction to Santana's appearance.

All Lord Alec had been able to tell Brittany about Ravenie itself was that the place had never been repaired after the fire. Clara, claiming that there was no proof yet that Santana, the only heir, was truly dead, had left a steward there to oversee the holding and collect the rents in her daughter's name. As far as Brittany's father had known, there had been no fighting by the Lindsay clan, no appeals to the king. From a distance it appeared that the people's heart had died with their chieftain.

"We shall _never_ get there moving at the pace you're setting this morning."

Brittany turned to the shadow of her brother approaching from the house. "What do you mean, _we_?"

"I mean _we _as in I'm riding along." Samuel stretched and gave a great yawn. "I've been down that way a few times of late, and I know the lay of the land. Why, there's a fine tavern just south of there on the Inverness road with the prettiest lasses this side of—"

"We're going directly to Ravenie Castle and back," Brittany said sharply, cutting him off.

"I know that, you fool." Samuel grinned and clapped his sister on the shoulder. "Our parents decided last night that it might be advantageous for Santana to make her first appearance among her people with the Pierce siblings standing at her shoulder. They wanted Quinn to go, as well. But you know how attached the old lass is to her sleep. I, for one, was not about to have my throat cut out by the beast for waking her up at this hour."

Brittany certainly saw logic in her parents' thinking. No one knew what to expect when they arrived at Ravenie. And it would certainly help to have the Lindsays see another Highland clan as powerful as the Pierces supporting Santana.

"And don't worry. You have no need to lecture or threaten me about keeping my distance from Santana." Samuel led his own horse from its stall.

"Is that so?" Brittany asked, not sure she could believe him.

Her brother smiled. "Actually, I've taken a liking to having Santana around. I was telling Quinn last night that, since her arrival, you have managed to somehow grow up. You are not quite so annoying to have around."

"You mean I haven't bothered you two since coming home about you chasing every skirt from Elgin to Edinburgh."

"Aye, and that's a definite improvement." Samuel pointed a finger at Brittany's chest. "Keep it up, lass, and we might actually let you live."

* * *

**A/N: I wonder what kind of reception they're going to get at Ravenie Castle...? Find out next week in another thrilling installment of _Washed Ashore..._**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)**

**I just want to say thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, and simply read this story (or me)! I very much appreciate it, and I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying this story :)  
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**Anonymous reviews!  
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**_Guest (#1) - _Thanks for the review! You're welcome lol, and I hope you like this chapter!  
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**_Guest (#2) - _I'm glad you liked that chapter! It was definitely fun writing Santana's stubbornness and whatnot :) If you're still reading, I hope you like this chapter!  
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**Well, that's all I have for now! Enjoy the chapter! :D**

* * *

The sun was almost directly overhead. Riding side by side at the head of the group of warriors, they crossed over a green ridge and started down into the valley that Santana was told marked the beginning of Lindsay lands. Her anxiousness sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at Brittany riding comfortably beside her. The blonde had such confidence. Santana turned in her saddle and saw Samuel riding and talking amiably to one of the older Pierce warriors, halfway down the line of men. Everyone seemed so self-assured—everyone but her.

She turned to Brittany. "Do you think the Lindsays already know that I am alive?"

"The way I understand it, they never gave up hope," Brittany responded, smiling warmly.

The closer they came to Ravenie, the more nervous Santana was becoming. "But do you think that they have heard that I am in the Highlands?" She asked nervously.

Brittany's smile widened, apparently amused by Santana's anxious questioning. "Despite the ruggedness of the land, news travels fast here. I would guess that as soon as we anchored and came ashore, someone was heading this way with every last bit of information they could collect about you."

Santana nodded in understanding, but said no more. They rode on in silence for a few minutes as Santana pondered the new information and let her fears roam free in her mind once more.

"I don't know any of them," she finally whispered worriedly. "I cannot recall any names or faces."

"That worries you?" Brittany asked, her tone solemn, soft.

Santana looked down. "Aye. It troubles me greatly."

Brittany nudged her horse closer to Santana's side. Her boot brushed against Santana's leg, and the blonde's warm hand reached over and took her freezing one. "You are returning to them, Santana. This more than anyone has done for them in eleven years."

Santana wished she could consider this a consolation, but she didn't. As short a time as she had been at Benmore Castle, she had seen in Lord Alex and Lady Evelyn what leaders should be to their people. She did not remember her father enough to be able to guess what kind of laird he had been—or how well he had been respected by his clan.

Her mother, however, had left and never gone back to Ravenie. How could anyone care for their people by staying away for so many years?

The track they were following crossed another path ahead, and the two reined their horses to a halt. Brittany let go of her hand and turned to Samuel as he approached.

"Turning to the right here will take us directly to Ravenie Castle," the older Pierce told Santana. "The path bends around that forest grove and climbs to higher ground behind it. The path we're on goes straight over that brae through the farms and to the old village and tower where the clan chief originally lived, before the king gave permission for Ravenie Castle to be built. So if you would like to go to the castle—"

"I wish to go straight," Santana cut him off.

"We shall go wherever you wish to go," Brittany replied with a nod, motioning the group to that direction.

Santana had lived a nearly solitary life for so many years on the Isle of May. Now she realized that _place_ had very little significance for her. It was _people_ who mattered.

The trail they took wound up a rocky brae toward an azure sky. With each passing moment, Santana's anticipation grew. At the crest of the hill, she brought her horse to an abrupt stop as she stared at the squalor that lay before her in the valley.

There were old huts made of stone and timber and sod in various stages of disrepair beside a grove of tall trees. Even from here, she could tell from collapsed thatched roofs that many were deserted. Though some fields had been planted, more lay fallow. She urged her horse down the slope behind Brittany's steed. The land looked to be good for grazing, although there were few sheep and even fewer of the red, shaggy cattle she had seen so many of around Benmore Castle. A wide stream snaked through the countryside.

In a few moments, they had drawn near the first of the cottages nestled into the side of the brae.

"Where do you think these people have gone?" Santana asked, eyeing the burned hut. A flap of stiff, blackened leather hung by a single strand in the doorway of the abandoned cottage.

"Crofters won't stay where they are unprotected," Brittany explained quietly. The blonde waited as Santana rode closer to the buildings. "These folks might have moved down into the village."

Protection. These people had no protection. Santana felt the knot tighten in her stomach. She followed Brittany as she continued down the path. Samuel pushed ahead of the other to ride beside them.

"Beyond that glen just ahead, the village lies. Would you like me to send a couple of men before us?" he asked Santana. "I shall go myself to tell the village folk that you are coming."

Santana shook her head adamantly. "I don't want a prepared welcome."

"I shouldn't worry much about that," Brittany said. "But without giving them any warning, there is no telling how they will—"

"Please don't," Santana interrupted gently. "I appreciate your offer, though. But I cannot ask for their acceptance. I have to earn it."

Santana pushed past the two Pierce siblings and slowly continued toward the village. She had though the greatest test of her courage would be facing her mother. But this was much harder.

She took one last look at the abandoned farm. Suddenly there seemed to be so much more at stake.

A moment later she heard the hooves of the Pierce horses behind her. Santana turned in her saddle and found Brittany and Samuel riding right behind her. Santana took strength from Brittany's reassuring nod and warm eyes.

At the crest of a hill beyond the glen, Santana reined her mare again to a halt. At the bottom of a long, gentle slope, beside a broad creek, lay a partial ruined tower house. Stretching out from what had once been a stone curtain wall, a cluster of fifty or so cottages formed a village on both sides of the water. On this side of the brook, at some distance from the outer line of huts, an orchard of fruit trees ran in neat rows up the hillside, and a small herd of the shaggy red cattle grazed in open pastureland. On the other side of the valley, Santana could see good-sized flocks of sheep and newborn lambs.

"That is Ravenie to your right."

At Samuel's announcement, Santana looked past the village. There, Ravenie Castle loomed proudly on the high ground overlooking the countryside. From this distance she could see no sign of the fire, no indication that there ever was any damage.

Santana looked at the fields and at the briskly running stream and, finally, at the village. "You say the Lindsay chieftain once lived at the tower house?"

Samuel nodded. "Aye. They called it the Tower. The castle itself is only as old as your father would have been. I believe your grandfather built it."

The happy shrieks of children drew Santana's gaze back to the huts, and the edges of her mouth turned up in a smile as she watched a dozen small, barefooted urchins running in playful pursuit of a dog. She wondered if, in her own childhood, she had been allowed to come and play in the village.

Santana's attention turned to the groups of men and women who seemed to have stopped the planting they were doing. They were all staring up the hill in their direction.

"They won't be afraid of Pierce men, will they?" she asked Samuel, suddenly concerned.

"Pierces have never raided these lands before. And in times of hardship, many Lindsay crofters have traveled west and taken shelter among our people. There is no reason for them to be fearful now," Samuel explained.

But some of the Lindsays seemed definitely agitated, Santana thought. She watched as a number of them started quickly down toward the village.

Santana led her horse through the groves of fruit trees that lined the steep hillside. The rest of the group followed behind her. Breaking out of the trees into one of the upper pastures, Santana reined in her mount and called a greeting to half a dozen workers who were watching the riders approach.

None raised a hand in welcome. None called a greeting. And the Pierces were not the object of these people's hard stares. Santana was.

She swallowed the painful knot of disappointment that was threatening to choke her and rode slowly past the silent throng.

"Perhaps we should to the castle first," Samuel suggested.

"She has to face this. 'Tis best that she do it now," Brittany said in answer to her brother. But Santana could have spoken them, as well. She was glad that Brittany understood.

As they approached the village, Santana could see more people coming down from the fields to the edge of the path. Regardless of whether they were men or women or children, their expressions were the same—and they were far from friendly. An arrowshot from the edge of the stream, as dozens of onlookers watched, Santana climbed down from her horse.

Brittany and Samuel reined their steeds in beside her. Santana handed her reins to Samuel. The rest of the Pierces were lined up behind their leaders.

"I would like to walk from here alone," Santana announced, looking directly at Brittany.

Brittany instantly opened her mouth to object, but then closed it without a word.

"I just ask for a little time," Santana said softly, reaching up and taking the blonde's hand. "This is all part of what I have to face—alone."

Brittany nodded, but her fingers held on to Santana's for an extended moment before she finally let the brunette go.

Santana turned to face her destiny.

Straight ahead, she could see that the narrow road that led to the ruined tower house was crowded with people. Santana took a deep breath and stepped toward the eerily silent assembly.

The same children who had been running happily before now moved to stand beside their elders. Santana looked down at the bare feet and dirty faces, at the rags that they wore as clothes. This close, she saw other things, as well. The look of hunger was pronounced in some faces. There was illness in others. There was also curiosity and caution and even despair.

She looked hard at the poor condition of the cottages, and she knew. What Santana saw here was so different from what she had seen at Benmore Castle. These people had clearly been ignored and neglected by those who had promised to protect them. For too long the people themselves had been abandoned.

As Santana approached the first line of cottages, a scrawny dog of black and tan came up to her, hackles up and growling in obvious nervousness. Without retreating a step, Santana held out her hand, palm flat, welcoming the animal and his scrutiny. After a moment of sniffing, the dog wagged his tail and retired to his owner with the air of a victorious warrior.

With her head held high and her back straight, Santana walked farther down the road. With every step she met people's gazes, and they made way for her. She stopped and turned around as the crowd closed in behind her. She turned completely around and looked into the circle of faces.

"I am Santana," she said gently and yet loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Most of you do not know me. Or if you do, you may remember me only as a child." She took a deep breath and tried to will away the doubts that were chilling her bones.

"I left here…" She shook her head. "I left _there_." Santana pointed to the castle on the ridge. "I left there eleven years ago…the same night that my father was killed."

Santana cleared her throat and struggled to organize her thoughts and her words. But everything had become a jumble of emotion within her.

"I don't know if 'twas the tragedy that I witnessed here or what happened during a terrible sea storm after, but when I washed ashore on the Isle of May, I had no memory of who I was or where I had come from." She looked into the somber faces surrounding her. "I was found by an old couple who were the keepers of Saint Adrian's shrine. They were the folk I stayed with for all these years."

An old man leaning on a crutch nodded instantly at the mention of the shrine.

"While there, I thought 'twas my fate to remain forever on that island, taking care of a handful of sheep and a weary pilgrim or two every summer. I thought that was the life I was destined to live. And I would have done exactly that if it had not been that the youngest child of the Pierce laird had one day washed ashore, as well." Santana glanced in the direction of Brittany. She was sitting on her horse, eyeing the crowd warily. Samuel and the other Pierce men sat behind her.

"'Twas she who identified the Lindsay brooch I had. 'Twas she who made me realize my nightmares of fire and horror were really a part of my past." Santana looked at Brittany again, and her voice softened. "And 'twas she who told me that all of you were still here."

Santana glanced again at the faces, held their gazes, sought their response. "I was made to realize that I was not alone, as I had thought. That perhaps if I were to seek the people of the Lindsay clan, that if I were to explain to you that I was no different from you, that I too had been displaced and abandoned for the past eleven years…then perhaps you would take me back. Perhaps I would be given the opportunity of finally knowing my own people."

Silence once again threw its heavy wing over the crowd. Santana managed to hold back the tears despite the desperation that twisted her insides. The group continued to stare.

Then a shuffling sound came from the left. Santana turned and saw an older man pushing through.

"My name's Robbie. I was the cook up at the castle when ye were a wee lass. I remember ye clutching at the skirts o' yer nursemaid, Elsie, and following her everywhere about the place." The man leaned his weight heavily on a stick that he was using for walking.

The memory was vague, like a scene she had perhaps imagined, but Santana voiced it. "I remember falling over a bucket of water and oats and nearly putting out the kitchen fire."

"Ye didn't fall, lassie. Ye jumped."

A rumble of laughter rolled across the crowd.

"Ye were always sure to be into a bit of mischief when ye were a wee thing," a middle-aged woman announced with a smile from the opposite side of the gathering. "I was one of the serving lasses that would come up daily from the village. I remember the day ye were trying to climb down the wall of the castle from yer room. Ye were caught on a ledge halfway down and didn't know to go up or down. And at the same time ye were refusing to cry for help."

Santana had never been afraid of climbing the cliffs on the May, and now she knew that her adventurous spirit had its origins here. "I wish I could remember your name."

"Lil." The woman smiled affably. "I fetched one of the men. 'Twas Rory. The two of us helped ye down."

"I was the one she fetched," a man standing next to her said. "Ye were worried about some birds that were nesting on the ledge outside yer window, lassie. D'ye remember?"

Santana took a step closer to the couple. She looked closely into the man's face. There was a flicker of recognition. "Horses. Somehow I see you where there are horses."

The man smiled brightly and nodded. "Aye, mistress. 'Twas I who taught ye to ride."

Someone else called out another story from the crowd. And then another spoke out. Santana started to remember a sound, a name, a face. More than ever before, something sweetly familiar wrapped a blanket of warmth around her. The coldness that she had sensed before among these people dissipated like a morning mist.

Santana felt a tug at her skirt and looked down into the dirty face of a little girl beaming up at her. Santana opened her hand, and the child took it, nestling against her legs.

Santana felt the first tear escape. Then another.

Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, and Santana looked about her, realizing that no longer was she confronting a crowd. She had become a part of them.

An ancient woman hobbled toward her and clutched Santana's hand and brought it to her lips.

"I'm Bella. I was Elsie's mother. Your nursemaid was one of the castle folk who took ye away the night of the attack. I know now that she was lost at sea with the rest of them."

With that, Santana broke down and wept as Bella wrapped her in a warm embrace.

At one point, Santana looked across the throng of people and could no longer see Brittany. Anxious, she searched the crowds again and found the blonde this time speaking with some of the Lindsays. Samuel was beside her too and some of the other Pierces. All had dismounted and joined the crowd. It was like some happy gathering of clans, and Santana relished the thought.

Santana felt the tug on her hand by the young child still standing with her. The girl pointed toward the castle.

A sudden change came over the demeanor of the villagers. Some folk quickly separated from the others and hurried back toward their huts. Others simply backed away until Santana caught sight of a rider and a half dozen armed men on foot who were approaching the market square on the road coming down from the castle. None wore the Highlander's kilt, dressed instead in Lowland breeches and chain skirts. Even from a distance, Santana could see that all were heavily armed.

"'Tis Hudson," the child murmured, half hiding behind Santana's skirt.

Santana turned to Bella, who was still standing near her. "Is he someone who knows me?"

The old woman shook her head. "Finn Hudson is the steward of Ravenie. Yer mother sent him from the Lowlands, lassie. He runs the castle and manages the land, and collects rents from the crofters in yer name. He has been here near ten years…maybe more."

The severe looks Santana had received on her arrival were nothing compared with the hostility that charged the air now.

"Is he just a steward?" Santana asked, keeping her eye on Hudson and his men.

Bella's back was bent with age, but the woman still managed to raise her gray eyes to Santana's. "Maybe in the eyes of whoever he collects the rents for in the Lowlands. He doesn't give a rush about any of the folks here. He takes what he says we owe, and turns out those who cannot pay. We are here to serve him and his mistress, he says. We are to work and not complain. 'Tis the way of the world, he says. 'Tis the way of things here, to be sure, since the laird's death."

"Could you do nothing?" Santana asked despondently.

"We chose leaders over the years to speak for the clan, but it made no difference," Bella replied, defeat evident in her voice.

Rage like none she had ever experienced burned in Santana. In her name, in her mother's name, these people had been treated unjustly for ten years. She handed the little girl to Bella and approached the men.

The crowd continued to back away, forming a large circle as Hudson and his men reached the open area around the market cross. Santana didn't have to turn to know that Brittany had moved behind her. To her right and left, she saw Pierce men keeping a watchful eye.

Hudson was near middle age, balding with a swollen belly that sagged over the thick belt he wore over a greasy doublet and breeches. Santana noted the swagger of the armed men with him. _Bullies, one and all_, she thought angrily as they drew their swords and leaned on the hilts, the points buried in the dirt.

Santana was not deterred, however, and she continued to approach. The steward's small eyes focused for a moment on Santana, but he made no move to get down from his horse or acknowledge her.

"Are you Finn Hudson the steward?" She came to a stop a few steps away.

He looked over Santana's head, at whom she could only guess was Brittany. "My men brought me news of some travelers passing through the village. Pierces, they said." He gestured to the armed men to his right and left. "We are much better prepared to receive company at the castle. These lazy bastards need to be planting the fields."

"You haven't answered my question," Santana called, taking a step closer. If he knew about the Pierces being here, he must have been told about her, too. Perhaps, she considered, he hadn't heard, though. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, Santana introduced herself. "I am Santana Catherine Lindsay. I believe 'tis in my name that you are steward of this holding…"

"What are you looking at, you filthy curs?" the steward shouted at the crowd, as though Santana hadn't spoken a word. "Back to the fields."

A few people shuffled nervously, but no one retreated.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" Santana shot at him, growing livid at his insulting behavior.

The steward turned the head of his horse away and murmured some orders to the man nearest to him. Santana was too angry to think through any consequences. She started toward the man, only to stop in shock as everything exploded with activity around her.

Brittany rushed past her and had a grip on the back of the steward's belt in an instant. With one quick jerk, the pompous steward was off the horse and on his hands and knees in the dirt.

There was a brief and short-lived scuffle between the Pierces and Hudson's armed men, but the Lowlanders were no match for Brittany, Samuel, and the others—including the Lindsays who had joined them. In just a few moments of struggle, the Lowlanders had been overpowered.

Santana was not naïve enough, however, to think that the battle was over. She was certain Hudson had more men at the castle.

"Would you care to answer your mistress' questions now?" Brittany was standing behind the steward. The man had pushed himself off his hands, but still was on his knees. He cast a quick look at his subdued cohorts before scowling at Santana.

"I would have answered her to begin with if I thought that the lass was telling the truth. She is no daughter of Lady Clara's." The steward pushed himself to his feet and spoke to the Lindsays, who had once again surged forward to watch the spectacle before them. "This creature is nothing more than an imposter paid for by the Pierces. See for yourselves! She was brought here to trick you fools." He pivoted and pointed an accusing finger at Brittany. "Leave it to these pirates to think of a way to steal what is yours."

* * *

**A/N: Oooo...Kind of a good news, bad news situation for Santana. Stupid Finn and his douchebaggeryness (sorry to any Finn fans who are reading this, but...I hate him. So, evil villain it is! hehehe). **

**And yes...I purposefully ended it here _because_ it is so abrupt. :) Anywho...I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the next shall be up soon! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Greetings, everyone!**

**So...that cold I had last week is still around...stupid thing. Getting REALLY tired of being sick lol. Anyway, I also need to tell you guys that I am driving up to Pennsylvania (I live in Florida) for my brother's wedding on Thursday, and I won't be back until Sunday night, so...No new chapter next week. Sorry about that. However! This chapter is twice as long as usual, so...think of it as getting two chapters at once! :D**

**Anonymous reviews!  
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**_Diana - _Thanks for the review! Hahaha, you know, I used to think that too - that no Brittana fan actually likes Finn (I don't get how _anyone_ could like him haha). But I've actually seen a couple people's profiles that said they ship Brittana and Finchel and stuff. So...yeah. Ew. lol. Thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_gracielovesyou - _Thanks for the review, as always! :) Yes! Curse Finn's douchebaggeryness (totally a word...that I made up hehe)! I hope you like this chapter, and thanks again for the review! :D  
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**_Guest (#1) -_ Thank you for the review! Haha, indeed, stupid Finn. He ruins everything. But no worries! He will be taken care of shortly ;) And I don't know...This _is_ Santana and Brittany we're talking about, so...love won't really take much of a backseat, even with all the issues Santana has to face. Thanks again for the review! :D  
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**_Guest (#2) - _Thanks for the review! Haha, thanks ;) I thought Finn as a villain was rather fitting too. He gets far too much undeserved hero-worship on the show lol. I'm glad you liked Santana's interaction with the Lindsay clan! And, omg, I did _not_ think about _Anastasia _while writing this, but you're right! It _is_ kind of like that. Except the Dowager Empress in the movie wasn't an idiot like Finn is haha. I hope you like this chapter, and thanks again! :)  
**

**_Guest (#3) - _Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're liking the story so far, and I am feeling a little better, but can't really seem to shake off this pesky cold, lol, so thanks! :) I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**Okay, that's about it. Happy reading! :D**

* * *

"She will hate me. She will think me the most horrible of mothers." Lady Clara continued to pace back and forth across her bedchamber. "And what happens if she decides that she does not wish to see me? What should I do if she remains in the Highlands with the Pierces and the rest of those animals?"

"If she is truly who she says she is, then she will understand." William Schuester reached for the willowy woman's hand and forced her to stop. "If this young woman is truly Santana Catherine, then she will come to you."

"'Tis she. I just know 'tis Santana. For a long time I have known that she would come back." The woman's delicate features were flushed. She tugged her hand free and walked to the narrow window overlooking the courtyard. "Everything makes sense—where she was found to what age she claims to be. I've known this was coming for a long time."

Schuester's strong arm encircled Clara's waist, and he pulled her against his chest. His voice was soothing and reassuring in her ear. "We have done everything that we can right now. You have answered her letter. I have sent a group of my most trusted men to Benmore Castle to escort her back. There is no reason to fret over this until she arrives at our gate."

Clara turned in the warrior's arm. Her deep brown eyes glistened with tears. "Are you certain about this? About everything we are doing?"

"Aye, my dove," William assured her. "Just leave everything to me, and all will be well."

* * *

Nothing that Hudson said affected Santana in the slightest—except to make her want to correct the problems here at Ravenie even more. She turned to her clan.

"I find this man lacks the spirit and the good intentions my father had for our people while he was alive. I find this steward grievously at fault for his treatment of you over these past ten years. Now, who will help us restrain him and his men? Who will help us take back Ravenie Castle?" Santana announced, her voice clear and strong as she held her head proudly.

A deafening cheer filled the market square as the entire village stepped forward. The steward, having realized his mistake, scrambled to take shelter behind the Pierces, the same people he had accused only a minute earlier.

In moments, Brittany had divided the villagers into groups. Some were sent with Samuel and a handful of Pierce warriors up to the castle. Others were assigned to see to Hudson and his henchmen in the village. There were many, though, who approached Santana on their own. Young and old, men and women—the noose around their spirits finally loosened—all were excited to talk to her and to make suggestions. All wished to know if she planned to stay.

Santana wanted to, but she had other things that demanded her attention before she could think about that.

Those remaining at Ravenie Castle who were loyal to the steward gave way to the combined force of Lindsays and Pierces without a struggle. Most whom Samuel and the other encountered in the castle were from the village, anyway. To be sure, all of the Lindsays were fed up with the steward's treatment of their people.

All that Hudson's men asked for was permission to leave.

"I believe we should let all of them go," Santana told Brittany with conviction. "Hudson included. My family is most responsible for the hardship and the damage that has been done here. Though she has been absent all these years, my mother should have had someone checking on the steward. But she didn't."

Santana shook her head and watched the celebration that had been going on since midday.

"Don't torment yourself about the past," Brittany said firmly. "None of that was your doing. You shall make these people forget their hardships. Anyone can tell that your arrival has already given new life to the Lindsay clan."

Santana looked up and their gazes locked. "You make me believe in myself," she murmured quietly.

"As you should." Brittany gave her a smile that warmed her blood and sent tingles through her body. "Everyone here sees how special you are. 'Tis time you started believing it, too."

Santana beamed at the blonde. "You are a true friend."

A few days ago the words Santana had just spoken would have been enough for Brittany. She would have been quite content to be considered Santana's friend. But now, as she heard the words tumble from the brunette's lips, Brittany knew it was not enough—it would never be enough.

Brittany had seen Santana's courage in action today. While she fought back her own fears for the brunette's safety, Santana had walked into the midst of a mob that looked like a pack of hungry wolves. Santana hadn't known it, but Brittany's hand had never left the hilt of her sword until she had seen the first sign of acceptance by the Lindsays.

"I believe I have found my home," Santana told her. "There is no doubt in my mind that this is where I belong."

Brittany nodded, working hard to hide her own feelings at this important moment in Santana's life. The blonde gestured to where Hudson and some of his people were being held. "I'll make sure an escort of Lindsays and Pierces conveys these curs to the southern borders of your land. I do not believe you will hear from them again."

Santana looked around. "Having seen your village at Benmore Castle, I know there is a great deal to be done here."

Brittany followed the direction of the other woman's gaze. "Aye, but this is good land. And Samuel tells me that only a section of the castle was burned. The rest is solid and livable. You should probably take a ride up there and see it for yourself."

Santana turned toward the celebrating crowds. "I wonder what it would be like to live here, in the village. 'Twould be only right to find some use for this tower house."

The Highlander nodded. "Nothing is impossible. Perhaps with a few good masons, and—"

"Will you stay with me here? Will you help me to start again?" Santana interrupted, shifting her gaze back to the blonde.

Brittany abruptly stopped and looked at her. Santana's beautiful olive face was flushed. Her eyes were dark pools, so clear that Brittany could see her own reflection in them.

For the first time in her life she had come to the realization that no other plans, no other dreams, no grand adventures in the world meant a thing to her if she couldn't have Santana. But at the same time, the uncertainty of her position as the third child—and Santana's position as the sole heir to Ravenie Castle—was suddenly gnawing at her.

"Santana, there is a great deal that…that…" Brittany paused, trying to find the right words.

"I mean temporarily," Santana said hastily, mistaking Brittany's silence for rejection and dropping her hand in embarrassment. Her face was even redder than before. Santana hurriedly looked away when the first tears slipped down her cheeks. "I never intended to interfere with …with your plans. I just thought that if you have a few days to spare, you might perhaps like to come back with me and…and help me get started."

"Wait, Santana." Brittany took the brunette's arm before she could walk away. "There is a great deal that you and I need to—"

Unfortunately, Samuel chose that exact moment to approach them. "The afternoon is advancing, you two. If we are to make it back to Benmore tonight—" He stopped, recognizing that he had walked in at a bad time. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Aye, you are."

"Nay, you are not."

Brittany and Santana had spoken at the same time. Samuel looked curiously from one to the other.

Santana shook her head at Brittany before turning to Samuel. "I should like to stay, but at the same time my mother is expecting me to be at Benmore. If, by change, she herself would travel to the Highlands…well, I doubt she would ever come to Ravenie Castle. And yet, I am concerned about leaving. I think we are needed here."

Brittany was far from ready to leave Santana here by herself. "Now that the Lindsays have formed a clan council, they will keep things here under control in your absence. However, we can also leave behind a few of our own men to help and assist them until you get back."

"Thank you," Santana said quietly. "I think we should plan on spending the night here, though. Would that be any problem?" she asked, turning her attention to Samuel.

"Nay, Santana," Samuel replied. "No problem at all."

Santana's eyes, taking on a worried look, scanned the villagers. She nodded absently and walked toward a group nearest to them. The old woman called Bella was at the center of the group, and Santana went directly to her.

Brittany realized that she must have been too absorbed in her attention to Santana, for Samuel seemed to have repeated a question that she had not heard even the second time.

Her older brother poked her in the ribs. "Why don't you admit it and be done with it?"

"Admit what?" Brittany scoffed, pretending she didn't know what he was talking about.

Samuel rolled his eyes. "That you are in love with her."

Brittany looked defiantly at her brother, but no denial rose to her lips.

Samuel let out a low whistle. "Come now, sister. While you're at it, admit that you want to spend the rest of your life with her. Marriage, children, happily ever after. You know there is nothing that says the youngest child cannot marry first."

Brittany turned abruptly and strode away. Samuel followed, not a step behind.

"I never thought I'd see the day, but you are far, far gone. And don't try to deny it. You were probably sunk the moment she dragged you out of the water."

For some reason, Samuel's words lacked the note of ridicule that Brittany would have expected.

"So what are you doing tormenting yourself and her? 'Tis obvious that she wants you…perhaps loves you back, for all I know of such things," Samuel continued.

"The whole damn thing is too complicated," Brittany snapped, her tone harsher than she had intended. "I don't have time to worry about such foolishness now."

Samuel's large hand landed on Brittany's shoulder. The older Pierce's hazel eyes were deadly serious when Brittany looked at him.

"You don't want to be spending the rest of your life regretting this moment." Samuel lowered his voice. "Don't forget the family that she springs from. Lowlanders and Highlanders. A marriage by contract. Two unhappy, distant people thrown together for the purpose of property. Why, not that I'm an expert, mind you—but I think that there's not a shred of romantic feeling in that whole arrangement. And I'll tell you something else—" Samuel paused.

Letting out an impatient huff, Brittany waited for him to finish, frowning fiercely.

"Once her mother takes charge of the lass, not you nor Santana herself will be deciding her future. _That's_ for sure."

Brittany felt ill at the truth in Samuel's words. Physically ill at the thought of losing Santana.

"If you don't have time to work your way through this 'foolishness,' as you call it, then just think of what lies ahead for her. Brittany, lass, I am not speaking lightly now. If this is what you truly want for your future, don't waste a moment."

* * *

As the Lindsay clan folk celebrated their liberation, Santana agonized over the thought that she had practically begged Brittany to stay with her at Ravenie. Mortified, Santana mad certain that she didn't have another moment alone with Brittany for the rest of the day. Later, she gladly accepted Bella's offer of spending the night in her cottage.

Emotions were running high the next morning as they prepared to leave the village. A half dozen of the Pierce men were to stay. It was clear to Santana, though, that the villagers were feeling far different without the heavy lash of the steward hanging over them.

Santana had promised to come back after her meeting with her mother. She believed she would. And she was relieved to know that her people believed her, too.

"I know you have set your mind against it." Brittany moved her horse next to Santana's as everyone mounted up. "But you should at least consider riding up there and looking in at Ravenie Castle before we leave," Brittany suggested quietly.

The blonde was all seriousness this morning. Santana wished she could have such tight control over her own emotions.

"And I am not suggesting it because I want to persuade you to live up there instead of down here," Brittany continued. "The fire in that castle and the murder of your father are a part of your past. There are decisions you will need to make when you come back. I think that you will have a much easier time doing that if you have settled _everything_ that hangs over you from the past."

Santana's first impulse was to reject Brittany's reasoning and simply ride away, but common sense prevailed. Santana was curious about that night—about the fire and the attack.

Santana gave a nod of resignation. "Will you ride with me?" she asked as she moved her gaze to the blonde beside her.

Brittany's tender look of agreement—the way the blonde reached over and gently squeezed her hand—only managed to confuse Santana more. She loved Brittany so much that it hurt to be around her, knowing the end of their days together was in plain sight. Everything about their situation was baffling. One moment Brittany was so aloof and distant, and the next she could be so warm and compassionate.

"Can we see Ravenie Castle and then come back and leave by way of the village?" she asked finally. "When we leave here, I want the last image I carry with e to be these people and this place that I want to come back to. Not the place I have been having nightmares about for so many years."

Brittany nodded. "I understand." The devil take her, Brittany thought, if she understood anything anymore. If she didn't get a chance soon to talk to Santana—to tell the brunette how she felt—Brittany would surely explode. By 'sblood, she had felt like a tongue-tied fool yesterday when Santana had asked her to stay! And then, once she had gathered her wits about her, Santana had avoided her like the plague. It was obvious that Santana had made herself unavailable for the rest of last evening. And the night had been hell. Brittany had tossed and turned until almost dawn.

Brittany looked around at the group of Pierce men gathered nearby. Now was not the time, either. _Bloody hell_. Shaking off her brooding thoughts, Brittany tried to focus on what they had ahead of them this morning. Perhaps once she had seen the castle, they would have a chance to talk.

After asking Samuel to keep the men in the village, the two of them rode up toward the castle.

Ravenie Castle was built on a rocky ledge surrounded by a dry moat beyond the stout curtain walls. To get to the bridge that led to the low, arched entrance, they rode up a long and winding road.

"Some of the history of this place will never be truly known, I fear." Santana spoke quietly, taking in the wild terrain of the surrounding hills.

"You are talking about the attack on the castle. About the night of your father's murder," Brittany stated more than asked, once she realized the 'history' to which the brunette was referring.

Santana nodded. "I asked Bella. There never have been any credible answers to it. The Lindsays were not feuding with any of our neighboring clans. As far as the villagers knew, Sir Stephen was well liked and respected in the Highlands. Even more strange, the attack came only on the castle and not on the village. In fact, the people down there didn't know anything about it until someone saw the flames mounting up to the sky."

"One would think that the castle would have been better protected. I went up there last night," Brittany said. "There is a ditch to cross, then a banded oak gate and a portcullis, and armed gatekeepers. How could a group of men get inside the walls unnoticed?" Brittany continued, wondering aloud.

"They didn't just get inside the castle walls. They were inside the laird's chambers," Santana said, shivering uncontrollably. "My father was stabbed in the back. That tells me that they…they were waiting for him. Maybe they were even there before he arrived that night."

"I have been asking some questions of my own since yesterday, too," Brittany added. "Amid all the chaos of the fire and the shouts of the laird's murder, there was very little fighting. This wasn't a case of the castle coming under siege and being taken by force. Nothing was taken. All that anyone remembers seeing afterward was a half dozen men dressed in an array of Highland gear fleeing into the night."

"_Unidentifiable _Highland gear," Santana repeated. "Strangers. Bella said no clan could be accused afterward. 'Twas as if a band of outlaws just appeared in the castle, murdered my father for no apparent reason, and then disappeared," she said, shaking her head as she tried to make sense of it all.

Their horses had slowed. Santana saw the drawn portcullis and open gate of Ravenie Castle, and her heart started drumming in her chest.

There were dark, pungent pools of stagnant water in the ditch around the castle. She remembered the smell from her childhood. As she started slowly toward the bridge, her gaze traveled up the two stone towers facing the valley. The west tower was visibly burned. That was where her father had been killed. Her gaze never wavered from the blackened stones—from the slits of windows where she could see the sky peering through from the other side.

The wind blew in from the west and brought with it the earthy smell of stables and horses. Smoke from a wood fire in one of the chimneys reached Santana, and suddenly she found herself drifting back in time.

She could smell the smoke—taste it, even. Santana looked at the window where the laird's chamber had been and could see flames racing out. There were cries for help. Chaos surrounded her with darkness and flashes of torchlight. Terrified, she wanted to run.

Her horse pawed at the ground, snapping Santana out of the nightmarish state.

"I don't think you shall want to desert this place completely," Brittany offered, waving to servants who were coming out of the doorway that Santana now remembered led to the great hall. She touched her brow and found it covered with sweat. "Where 'tis, sitting here on the hill, the castle offers a clear view in every direction. You need this for your own security and for the people who live in the village below."

Santana somehow managed to respond to the people's greeting, but remained on her horse, telling them that they needed to be riding to Benmore Castle and wouldn't be going into the keep. As the workers moved off, Santana could feel her heart continuing to pound. She turned to Brittany.

"Do I need to do anything to the castle if 'tis just to be a place to keep watch?"

Brittany shook her head. "Nay, you don't need to do anything, but—"

"Very well. I have seen enough. Let's go," Santana blurted out, effectively cutting Brittany off.

Undeterred, Brittany leaned over and took the bridle of Santana's horse before she could turn away. "Your face is flushed. You are upset. Talk to me, Santana," the blonde pleaded.

"I have nothing to say. Not here. I just want to leave." Santana could hear the note of terror in her voice. The courtyard was too small. There wasn't enough air. She tried to wrench the blonde's hand off the bridle, but she wouldn't let go. "I don't want to be here, Brittany. I didn't want to come. I want to go now," she said, the panic in her voice intensifying with each sentence.

"Come, Santana. Let's get down from our horses. Show me around this place." Brittany spoke soothingly, her voice completely even and calm.

Temper rose in Santana. "I _want_ to _leave._"

"Aye. And you will…in time." Completely disregarding her anger, Brittany dismounted and lifted the brunette from her saddle as well.

As soon as Santana's feet hit the ground, she started walking straight for the gate. She heard Brittany's steps behind her, and she broke into a run. The blonde caught her just as she entered the stone archway of the gate. Santana looked frantically toward the opening at the other end. She could see the iron points of the portcullis hanging ominously from the top.

"Let me go. I want to leave," Santana demanded fiercely.

Instead of letting her go, Brittany's grip on her tightened. Santana felt trapped, and she immediately became a wildcat in Brittany's arms. Punching her, kicking her, Santana tried to break free, but the blonde held her even tighter.

Santana did not scream, as she did not want anyone to hear them. She didn't want her people to know that she was afraid of this place.

"I'll kill you when I get out of here," the brunette said under her breath when Brittany turned her in her arms so that Santana could face the blonde. "I will take you onto a ship and push you overboard myself. And this time I'll let you drown."

Brittany grinned wickedly. "Is that a promise?" The villain had the nerve to taunt her.

Rather than answer her, Santana kicked her hard on the shin. Brittany winced but still did not let her go. Instead, she pulled the feisty brunette deeper into the darkness of the entryway and pushed her back against the hard stone. Brittany's' body followed, pressing against her. Santana tried to struggle again, but then stopped as the tears began.

It was like an explosion of emotion in her, and one she could not control. One moment she was fighting Brittany, hating the blonde for bringing her here, and the next she was a sobbing mess, holding on to Brittany and burying her face in the taller woman's chest.

Brittany let her cry. She held Santana in her arms and let her pour out the raw feelings. After some time, Santana realized that her misery had found a new fuel.

She was taking comfort in another human being. She was feeling the warmth of Brittany's touch on her back, and she was nearly overwhelmed by the power of her own need. Holding her tightly, Santana stared at the glimpse of skin beneath the open collar of Brittany's shirt, at the soft, yet solid, pillar of her throat. Santana's hands inched their way across Brittany's chest, feeling her strength and her warmth.

And then Santana cried even more, knowing that she couldn't have her.

It was a while before Santana became aware of the ridiculousness of her thoughts and pulled back. "I…I am so sorry. I don't know what…what came over me."

Brittany tenderly lifted her chin until Santana was looking into the deep blue of her eyes. "This is all part of setting the past behind you, Santana. Seeing, remembering, and then letting go."

"Remembering and letting go are the hard parts," Santana said brokenly.

Brittany's thumb gently brushed away the wetness beneath Santana's dark eyes. "You need good memories of this place to replace those others," the blonde stated, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Nothing can wash away the nightmares from that night. Nothing!" Santana spat furiously.

Brittany gazed more intently into her eyes. "Would you allow me to prove you wrong?" she asked, her voice taking on a husky timbre.

"Allow you?" Santana gave a small, derisive laugh. "I would give anything to have something good to—"

The next breath was caught in her chest as Brittany's soft lips covered hers. Then she forgot to breathe. For a mindless moment all Santana was conscious of was the consuming fire that was racing through her. This kiss was so unexpected, and yet so stunningly wonderful. Santana was afraid to move—afraid to think—for fear of breaking this wild and magical moment.

Brittany's mouth grazed the skin beneath Santana's ear as her arms wrapped tightly around the blonde. Brittany kissed the hollow of her neck, and she could feel Santana's pulse fluttering uncontrollably beneath her lips. There was so much that Brittany wanted to tell her, about how she felt and what the brunette meant to her. But to her continued chagrin, Brittany knew that this was not the time. Santana already had too much that she had to deal with here at Ravenie.

Brittany's mouth returned to Santana's full lips, and the blonde kissed her again before pulling back. "Come with me, Santana," she said breathlessly.

This time Santana walked with her into the bright, sunlit courtyard. Santana already knew that she would walk with Brittany to the end of the world if she asked.

"Will you tell me what you have been hearing about this place?" Santana asked.

Instead of taking her to the burned section of the castle, Brittany started toward the east tower.

"Forget about the place. Let's begin with its mistress. From all I heard down in the village, you were a wee faerie sprite when you were young." Brittany gave her a devastating smile, and one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling Santana snugly against the taller girl's side.

Brittany's smile was contagious, and Santana found herself relaxing a little. They walked up some steps hewn out of solid rock.

"Now, what do you recall of where things are here?"

Finally being here, Santana found it amazing how much of her memory was coming back. She told Brittany what she could recall of the castle. They walked through the kitchens, looked at the old bread oven. She showed the blonde the large stone trough used for making bread dough. Here, the damage from the fire had obviously been repaired by the steward, since, other than some blackened stones around the doorway, there was nothing else indicative of the tragedy.

"I have a vague recollection of this place with dozens of people bustling about and boys and dogs running in every direction." Santana moved away from Brittany and ran her fingers along the edges of tables and hearths. "I can almost smell the bread in the morning. Robbie the cook…now I can almost see him, waving his stick about like a chieftain directing his warriors in battle. I also think that I wasn't supposed to come here. I think I was forbidden by my mother to roam around the castle by myself."

But Santana had kept coming back. She was sure of that.

"Maybe I can convince Robbie to tell me some more stories of the mischief you got into when you were a wee bairn," Brittany quipped with a teasing grin.

"I can save you the trouble," Santana responded as she moved into Brittany's open embrace, smiling mischievously. "I was a perfect child."

Brittany kissed her again. But this time it was only a brush of the lips—a teasing growl in Santana's ear—before the blonde led her into the next section of the keep.

The great hall spread across the area between the two towers. Two of the people who had greeted them outside came over now, obviously delighted to see that Santana had stayed.

"I couldn't let your mistress leave without showing me around this place first," Brittany said, smiling brightly.

Santana was grateful for Brittany's explanation and for the way that she engaged the old pair by asking a series of questions about the keep itself.

The great hall was older than Santana remembered, and the years that she had been away had not helped it at all. A heavy blanket of dirt covered everything. There were birds nesting in the rafters and surly dogs eyeing her from dark corners. She glanced at the long trestle tables. Some of them were overturned and broken up. Santana spied the remainder of one in the huge fireplace by the dais.

Suddenly the noise of the warriors coming back from days on the road filled her head—the clatter of dishes…laughter...the music of pipers. The warm amber light of torches and a log fire. A piece of her childhood, Santana thought, a fragment of long-forgotten years. She wandered toward the dais.

The woven rushes on the floor were torn and filthy and reeking of disuse. Huge sections were missing completely. She looked for the colorful tapestries that had once adorned the walls. Most were gone, though the badly tattered remains of one still hung between two windows. The Lindsay shield above the hearth was missing too.

A strong draft swept through the room. Santana rubbed her arms to ward off the sudden chill…and then her gaze was drawn to the hearth. In her mind's eye, she could see herself—a young child again—frightened and uncertain. Her nursemaid had forced her to come downstairs and greet her father, who had been away for months. She drifted into the past.

* * *

_The large man was pacing impatiently before the hearth. Though he wore no armor, she could see the stains of chain mail and leather clearly inscribed on the padded black tunic. A knot of fear tightened in her belly._

_Sir Stephen Lindsay ceased his pacing as soon as he saw her._

"_Santana!" he called out._

_The young girl kept her gaze riveted on the man's heavily stained boots and wondered if the dark patches might have been someone's blood._

"_Come closer, child."_

_Her feet would not move. Santana saw the laird's giant fist open and extend toward her in welcome. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of the stories she had heard from her mother—stories of the furious killing of hundreds of men by these same hands._

"_By the saint, my own Santana. Lord, you've grown so much since I last laid eyes on you."_

_He came across the rush-covered floor, and Santana's eyes stung with tears. She had refused to see him the last time he had come to Ravenie Castle, and there had been a price to pay for that. A young dog she had come to care for as her own had simply disappeared when the laird had gone back to the wars. Her father's punishment for loving an animal better than her own kin. Her mother had told her so._

"_I've good news for you, Santana."_

_She stared at the boots moving closer, and the tears uncontrollably rolled down her cheeks. _

"_This time, I'm home to stay for a while."_

_The moment he laid a hand on her shoulder, every inch of the young girl's body went rigid. She bit her lip to keep from running._

"_What's wrong, lass?"_

_He crouched before her, and she glanced up into his face. She wasn't prepared for the hurt she saw in those dark eyes that were so much like her own._

"_Why are you crying?"_

_Santana winced when she saw his large hand coming at her face. But the gentle brush of a calloused thumb across her cheek was another surprise. _

"_I know you have not seen much of me, child. I've been doing the king's bidding for so long that you have every reason to think me a stranger. I even have a wee suspicion that you were afraid of me. But I plan to make up for the time we've missed, Santana. I am…"_

_He continued to talk, but the young girl's attention was fixed on her father's face. He didn't seem too frightening this close. She could smell leather and horses and salt air, and found herself oddly comforted by the scents. And then there was his voice, the way he was talking to her now. The gentle hush of it stirred in her mind a memory of a time when she had been younger and he had been around more. She couldn't remember ever being terrified of him back then. _

_From the door of the great hall, her mother's exclamation was sharp: "Santana Catherine!"_

* * *

"Santana?"

She jerked around and looked in confusion at Brittany for a moment. The castle workers were gone.

"What's wrong, Santana?" Brittany asked worriedly.

"We were here. My father…my mother. She was angry because I had come down to see him." She looked back at the hearth. "I remember. He gave me a gift before I was sent back to my room. He gave me the jeweled cross for my sixth birthday, which was the next day. He told me he would see me in the morning."

Santana didn't realize that she was crying until Brittany's arms wrapped around her. "They were all here." She looked up at the blonde urgently. "I'm starting to remember."

Santana glanced nervously at the doorway that led to the west tower. "Will you come with me there?"

Brittany's pale hand enveloped hers tightly in answer.

Santana's steps were sure when the two walked tot eh ground floor of the tower. As they passed through the doorway and moved into the tower itself, Santana found herself in a great open space. Looking up, she saw that the upper floors were completely gone. But she could still see the weathered stubs of floor timbers protruding from the walls and the large fireplaces against the blackened stone walls.

"Our bedchambers were up there," Santana heard herself explaining. Even as she spoke, the past began to unfold, and she began to shiver. Pushing back the fears, though, Santana held tight to Brittany's hand and continued. "It all started in the middle of the night. I woke up scared, thinking I had heard a noise. But I wasn't sure. There was a faint smell of smoke in the air."

Brittany's breath hitched almost indistinguishably and her strong arm wrapped around the brunette's shoulders. She drew Santana against her side. "What did you do?"

"I picked up a candle and went into the corridor up there," she said as she pointed. "There was the sound of a struggle coming from the laird's chambers next to my room. I saw the door open slowly. A moment later I saw my father step out. He looked pale, his eyes black. He looked at me for an instant, his gaze distant. He stretched his hand toward me, and when I reached out…he pressed his brooch into my palm."

Santana swallowed hard. All the fragments of the nightmares came together now, and she drew a shaky breath.

"Then his sword dropped from his other hand, and he tumbled forward at my feet. The hilt of a dirk was sticking out of his back." Unconsciously, Santana tried to step back, but Brittany embraced her, keeping her where she was. "I screamed and crouched down at my father's head. Before I could touch him, the other man appeared in the doorway."

"You saw him?" Brittany asked, astonished.

Santana nodded slowly. "I saw the man who killed my father."

"Did you know him?" Brittany inquired.

Santana's brow furrowed in thought. "He wasn't anyone I knew."

Brittany looked into her eyes. "Would you recognize him now?"

Santana hesitated for a moment, but then nodded again. "His face was streaked with blood." She held up her hand and opened her fingers wide before them. "These two…these two fingers were cut off. I think my father had done it; cut him. There was blood dripping from his hand."

"Did he see _you?_ Did he realize that you had seen his face?" Brittany's tone had suddenly become urgent.

Santana nodded again. "Aye. He came after me—to kill me—so I know he did. My nightmares have all been about running away from this man."

"Your life could very well be in danger because of that." Santana heard the quiet warning, and then Brittany released her and she saw the blonde's hand go unconsciously to her dagger. "He could very well have been a Lindsay."

"I don't think he was, or I would have recognized him," Santana reasoned.

"There was no way that you, as a child, would have seen or recognized every Lindsay clan member. The man—the people responsible for that night—could very well still be around here," Brittany countered, her grip on her dagger tightening.

Santana shook her head. "I don't think so. I remember that as I was being taken away that night, I was told that my mother was in the same chamber as my father. That means that she must have seen the killer, as well. But she survived and nothing more happened to her."

"That is, assuming she _was_ with the laird. 'Tis well known that your parents didn't have the best of marriages. She very well could have been in her own chamber…or somewhere else," Brittany hypothesized.

Santana couldn't argue her mother's whereabouts any better than she could argue about the kind of marriage her parents had had.

"We have to get you out of here, Santana," Brittany said, shaking the brunette from her thoughts, as she took Santana by the hand and pulled her toward the door. "My worry right now lies not with what your mother saw, but with keeping you safe. And standing alone within the crumbling walls of this wing is anything but safe."

* * *

**A/N: Oooo, lots of information revealed in this chapter. And we met, kind of, Santana's mom! And yes...the William with Lady Clara is Will Schuester...just FYI lol. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and the next will be up as soon as I can! :D  
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	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Greetings, readers! **

**I apologize for the delay, but I had a _ton_ of schoolwork and work-work over the last couple weeks after I got back from the wedding, which was awesome, by the way, so writing the new chapter had to be put on the back burner for a bit.  
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**Reviews!  
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**_Rioux - _Hahaha! Your review was hilarious :D Santana's mom may or may not be behind it, but you'll just have to wait to find out hehehe ;) Thanks again for the review and I hope you like this chapter!**

**_hanazono - _Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're liking the story so far! I hope the rest doesn't disappoint! :)  
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_**Guest - **_**Thank you for the review! :) I'm glad you liked the return - kind of - to the bantering dynamic that Brittany and Santana had on the island :) Hmm...your hunches may not be too far off the mark. Or maybe they are. Who knows? Besides me, of course, but I'll never tell hehehe ;) Aw, thanks :) I try to make the plot interesting for people, so I'm glad that I'm succeeding so far! :D I hope you like this chapter and thanks again! :)**

**_froggy - _Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're liking this story and that it could be an exception to your "no reading historical stories" policy. :) Haha, don't worry, I feel your frustration, but they are definitely moving down the path of wanting to tell each other how they feel :) They'll get there soon hehe :D Hmmm...mayyyybe he is. But then again, maybe he's just a stand-up guy. You'll just have to wait and see :) Totally agree, though. I _hate_ the way Finn and Will are put up on pedestals on the show, and I also wish them each a violent and tortuous death. :) We'll see what this story brings for them ;) Anywho, thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter!  
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**That's about it for now :)  
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**To all of my fellow citizens of the USA, I hope you all have a very Happy Thanksgiving! :D  
**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

"Lady Clara is her mother," the laird said, "and she is not unreasonable in ordering Santana to the Borders."

"As her _mother_, one would have expected that she would not waste time in seeing her," Brittany said heatedly.

"If you are saying she might have come to the Highlands, then I say we don't know her situation," Laird Alec tried to reason.

"I don't give a damn about her situation. Considering the significance of the news, what mother would not have started out instantly to see her _only_ daughter?" Brittany countered.

The laird sighed wearily and tried once more to get through to his youngest child. "Lady Clara's letter says that she is jubilant at having regained her daughter."

Brittany scoffed. "Some scribbling on a bit of parchment does not sound like jubilance to me. And to whom was the letter addressed, anyway? To you and not her own daughter. How can we stand by and allow Santana to be…"

Brittany went on with her ranting, and Alec Pierce leaned back heavily against the carving above the open hearth. When his daughter turned away momentarily, the laird eyed his wife's attempt at keeping a serene expression on her face in spite of their daughter's obvious unhappiness. Sitting across the room, Evelyn was trying to look busy studying a drawing of a new storage barn she wished to have built. But Alec knew his wife had not given the drawing a moment's thought since they had begun to speak to Brittany, and she certainly wasn't thinking about it now.

The armed band of men who had arrived late last night were Schuesters, supposedly a distant kin to Santana's mother. With them, they had brought the cursed letter from Clara Lindsay, requesting—nay, demanding—that Santana be sent immediately to the Borders in the company of these same men.

In a way, the laird had been happy that his children had not brought Santana back from Ravenie Castle last night. He had not been looking forward to passing on the message. _With good reason_, he thought now, watching his youngest child.

When they had arrived, Alec had requested that Santana come in to speak to them first. The lass had been quiet the whole time that he had explained her mother's wishes. As one would have expected from a dutiful daughter, the young woman had only given a curt nod to his statement that the Schuesters had orders to leave as soon as possible. After that, she had practically run from the chamber.

An instant later, Brittany had stormed in, angry as a wounded bear.

"How does Santana feel about all this?" Evelyn's quiet question drew the laird's gaze and momentarily silenced their daughter.

"You and Father talked to her. How do _you_ think she feels?" Brittany asked hotly.

Alec Pierce started to answer, but caught the look Evelyn was giving him and stopped. He had seen this look before. They needed a united position—and it would probably be a more compassionate one than he was preparing to voice.

He shrugged. "The lass said nothing, Brittany. She didn't say a word." He looked at his wife. "I have been trained to read the unspoken language of only one woman. And that is your mother."

Evelyn faced their daughter. "Are you telling us that you have come here with all these complaints without any regard for that child's feelings?"

"She is no child, Mother. Santana is seventeen."

"Very well," Evelyn conceded. "You've come in here without knowing for certain the feelings of that young woman. Brittany, you have no right to assume or to accuse or to complain when Santana might be perfectly happy with the arrangements made for her by her mother."

"But she is _not_ happy," Brittany asserted passionately. "She was crying when she left this room. She was very upset."

"Then perhaps you should go to her," the laird suggested. "I've always found that 'tis wise to go—"

"Before you go anywhere near her," Evelyn cut in, "perhaps you should first sort out in your own mind the confusion that exists between you. 'Tis always better to offer comfort when one has a solution to a person's problems."

The laird almost asked "What confusion?" but held his tongue, as the lass seemed to understand perfectly what her mother was saying.

"I believe that has already been straightened out," Brittany answered confidently.

"Has it? And for how long?" Evelyn pressed. "Is this the heat of the moment speaking? A momentary lapse into some sort of noble behavior?"

"I am speaking up because I love her," Brittany announced ardently.

The laird's head snapped in Brittany's direction.

"Love?" Evelyn persisted. "Is this the love where two people spend the rest of their lives together?"

Brittany nodded, "If she'll have me."

"And what of your other plans? Plans of strapping on the sword of your ancestors. Years of sailing free? Of terrorizing every Spanish merchantman and treasure ship? Of—"

"Father didn't choose that path. He married and fell in love and settle happily. What is wrong with that?" Brittany countered.

"Fell in love and married." Alec managed to get out the words before the two went at it again. "We shouldn't forget the order here."

His wife and daughter looked at him as if he had just entered the chamber. Something told him this was probably not the best time to mention his tendency to become seasick.

"Go on. Go on," Alec encouraged his wife.

She turned back to her daughter. "It matters naught what your father did or didn't do. What about _your_ dreams? _Your_ plans?"

"We change, we grow, and we dream new dreams," Brittany responded passionately. "Whoever I was before and wherever I wanted to go was shaped by what I had seen and where I had been. No dream I ever had looked beyond the here and now. Permanence played no part in my dreams. I know now that is because I had never found anyone who affected me as Santana has. I have no regrets over letting those dreams slip away. They could never make me happy now."

Brittany started pacing again impatiently before them. "I know 'tis difficult for you to understand, considering that I am your youngest child. I know that the immature antics of my youth could cause you to think I am not serious. But I love her. The future means nothing to me if—"

"Stop right there. You should save this," the laird said solemnly, moving across the room and standing beside his wife's chair.

Brittany's expression showed her puzzlement as Alec reached for Evelyn's hand and the two exchanged a knowing look. The Pierce chieftain recalled that he had once been there himself, in this same room, twenty-seven years ago, presenting the same argument to his own parents.

"Brittany, it makes us quite proud to hear how much you have come to care for this young woman." Evelyn's blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at her husband before turning back to their daughter. "And your arguments are very convincing."

"When the right time comes, I believe you should use these same words to win her over," the laird added.

"I'm ready—"

"But considering her situation, if you were to propose now, Santana might think you were acting out of a sense of duty or honor." Evelyn shook her head. "And I do not believe that is any basis for a lasting relationship."

"Not to mention that 'twould be impossible to explain any of this to Santana's mother so soon," Alec chimed in again.

"Not that you are lacking in merit in any way." Evelyn's tone sharpened with maternal defensiveness. "True, Santana has inherited a great deal of land, but you are a Pierce and a Drummond, and royal Stewart blood flows in your veins. You will not lack for a fortune of your own, either, and you and Santana will together lift the Lindsay clan out of the difficulties they have long endured."

"We're not saying that your brother and sister wouldn't be glad to be rid of you." The laird smiled at his daughter encouragingly. "Nonetheless, you should wait a bit, at least until Santana is reunited with her mother. The lass needs to settle her past before she plans her future."

* * *

"Come now, child. This is not the end of the world! You are going to visit your mother, and then you shall return to us."

Santana wished she possessed Lady Evelyn's certainly. Wiping at her tears, she looked with embarrassment at the trunk full of clothing that had been prepared for her departure. Her gaze wandered to the velvet dress laid out on the bed, ready for her to wear during her last dinner at Benmore Castle. These good people planned everything for her—did everything for her.

When Santana had refused all help from the maidservants in getting ready for dinner, Lady Evelyn herself had come up to see if she was well. And this was where she had found Santana, curled up in the window seat, lost in her misery and unable to stop the unending tears.

"Why don't you talk to me?" The older woman sat down next to Santana in the window. She wrapped an affectionate arm around the raven-haired girl's shoulder. "Don't you want to see your mother?"

"I do. I do!" Santana cried. "Please forgive me. I am behaving like an ungrateful wretch. I need to stop all this."

"Tell me, child, are you afraid that once you go down into the Lowlands, you shan't be allowed to come back?" Lady Evelyn asked softly, concern evident in her voice.

Santana nodded once before shaking her head. "I don't know. I'm certain that Lady Clara will want me to stay. But I have made up my mind. I have been independent for too many years for her to tell me or force me to do anything against my will. The Lindsays need me, m'lady. And I need them."

"But you are so upset." Evelyn pushed the loose tendrils of hair back off Santana's face. A thoughtful expression settled on the older woman's beautiful face. "Have you had a chance to talk to Brittany since speaking to my husband and me today?"

Santana shook her head. After their moments together at Ravenie Castle, she had found herself daring to hope that perhaps the blonde shared some of her feelings. That perhaps they might somehow have a future together. Still, though she knew in her heart the main reason for her misery was leaving Brittany, Santana also hoped desperately that the truth of her feelings would not come out now.

Riding back from Ravenie, Brittany had been constantly attentive of their surroundings. Santana knew it was her safety that the blonde was concerned about, but as a result they had not had much chance to talk. And since hearing the news about her mother's message, Santana had not seen Brittany at all, with the exception of passing by her as she had left Lord Alec and Lady Evelyn. A horrible thought pierced her heart like an icy spike: perhaps Brittany wanted her to go. Perhaps, as far as Brittany as concerned, Santana should pursue her own life and leave her to pursue _her_ dreams.

"I heard that she had some errands that she is seeing to this afternoon," Brittany's mother offered.

Santana was grateful for Evelyn's explanation. "I have already taken so much of her time. 'Twas very kind of her—and Samuel, too—to come with me to Ravenie Castle. I don't know what I would have done without their help."

"Samuel told me how magnificent you were in facing your clan. He said you were quite impressive in both your courage and your eloquence in asking for their acceptance."

Santana shook her head shyly. She was hardly prepared to accept any praise in light of how weak she had proven to be since returning.

"Samuel is far, far too generous. But with the help of your children, things have already changed on my father's land. And I realize now that the reason for this silly display of hysterics this afternoon"—she tried to smile—"the reason is that you are the first true family that I have come upon for a long time." Santana shook her head again. "The first true family that I have _ever_ come across."

"I love you, child." Evelyn Pierce gave Santana an affectionate squeeze. She placed a kiss on the brunette's forehead, and Santana found herself trying desperately to contain her own surging emotions. "Santana, you are like a daughter to me. Now, come. Come and let's not allow this fine night to go to waste. There are people waiting for us downstairs. We have some celebrating to do," Lady Evelyn said cheerfully with a bright smile.

Santana allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She clamped down her emotions and, with Evelyn's help, prepared for the feast being held in her honor. Tonight she would smile and show hr appreciation for this family that had taken her in.

Tomorrow, after she started her journey south, Santana knew that she would have plenty of time to grieve.

* * *

Dinner at Benmore Castle was a grand affair.

The castle servants bustled about, people talked and laughed at the tables, children danced to the music and rand about after the dogs. Quinn and Samuel were in constant conversation with the clan folk. The laird and his wife were perfect hosts. But since the start of dinner, Santana had been unmindful of everything and everyone but the beautiful and exceptionally quiet young woman seated beside her.

This was their last night together—the last moments. But neither of them had said much. Santana was terrified even to glance in Brittany's direction. Santana hadn't left, but already she was missing the blonde. Her tears were plenty and she was holding them back only with great difficulty.

A serving man removed a platter of food that she had left untouched before her and replaced it with an assortment of fruit.

"Not hungry tonight?" Brittany asked.

Santana tried to regain her poise and find the voice to answer her, but all she was able to do was shake her head.

"Not thirsty either?" Brittany leaned near the brunette to check her cup. The brush of Brittany's golden hair against her cheek made Santana shiver. "What are you drinking, anyway?"

Santana wrapped her hand around the cup. "Water."

"Not much nourishment, considering the long days of travel ahead," Brittany remarked.

Brittany didn't have to remind her. Santana's chin started trembling, and she thought her composure was about to crumble. Santana began to raise her cup to hide her sadness behind it. Brittany's slender hand closed over hers, her pale fingers holding her darker ones captive, while the blonde's other hand filled her cup from a pitcher. "Are you cold?" the blonde asked.

"Not cold. Sad." Heat rose into her face at blurting out the truth of her feelings. In spite of it, Santana dared herself to look at Brittany. Her blue eyes were smoldering embers of warmth and affection. "I'm leaving in the morning, and that leaves so little time to say good-bye to those I have come to care for," Santana finished, never taking her eyes from Brittany's.

"This does not have to be a final farewell." Brittany reached up and casually pushed a loose strand of raven hair away from her cheek. The blonde's fingers scorched her skin where they brushed so lightly against her face.

"I…I have little hope of ever coming back," Santana responded despondently before realizing what she had just said. Embarrassed at her own boldness, at sounding as if she were coaxing an invitation, Santana quickly tore her gaze from the blonde's face and stared down at the weave of the cloth on the table. Santana loved her so much that it hurt. But her pride would not let her fall apart. Santana would not beg for Brittany's affection. "They say one path always leads on to other paths," she said, choking past a lump in her throat.

Santana blinked hard, forcing back the tears that were standing in her eyes.

Brittany cleared her throat and gave the brunette a small smile. "Did you get a chance to meet the men your mother has sent to escort you?"

Santana was grateful for the change in topic of conversation. "I did," she replied with a nod.

"Do you know them? Have you met them before?" Brittany asked.

Santana shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the table.

"Wouldn't you prefer to have someone you know accompany you?" Brittany asked softly as she gently lifted Santana's chin. "Someone you trust and perhaps even care for? Someone who is eager to meet your mother so she might seek her approval? Wouldn't you prefer someone like that to escort you to the Borders?"

Santana couldn't ignore the sudden thundering of her heart. "Are you…are you offering your services?" she managed to ask.

Brittany smile brightly and gently wiped a droplet from her cheek. "I am, if you'll have me."

Santana laughed through her tears. "Nothing would make me happier."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want us to follow them?" Quinn asked. She and Samuel and the laird stood on the battlements of the castle and watched the group of Schuester men, accompanied by Santana and Brittany and only a half dozen Pierces, departing for the Borders. "What Brittany is getting herself into may be far more dangerous than being washed off the deck of a ship."

"She'll be fine," the laird said, looking after the company riding down the hill from the castle.

"But you saw for yourself how surly those bloody Schuesters were last night," Quinn argued, "when they saw how Brittany and Santana looked at each other."

We know she wants to handle this on her own," Samuel chimed in. "But she will be outnumbered the minute they leave Pierce land. And even if they make it to the Borders, what if Lady Clara doesn't fancy her coming along? The bloody witch could throw her into her dungeon or—"

"I thought you two were looking forward to being rid of her?" the laird asked, cutting off his son's rant.

"We're serious, Father." Quinn cast another tense glance in the direction of the travelers.

"Very well, you two, but Brittany wanted it this way. She wanted Santana's mother to see her not as a threat. She is truly hoping to gain the woman's trust…for Santana's sake."

"But what if things do not go as she's planned?" Quinn inquired, concerned for her sister.

"Then we take her castle down, stone by stone."

In spite of the seriousness of the laird's tone, it was obvious that neither of the two younger Pierces felt comfortable with the idea of waiting.

"I know what you two are thinking. You're wondering where the harm is in following along. We could be there, nearby, if Brittany needs us."

Quinn and Samuel both nodded wholeheartedly.

"But that won't be allowing her to make her own decisions. Nay, my children. We stay here and wait. Brittany is a woman now and entitled to make her own mistakes." Alec Pierce put a hand on each of his children's shoulders and turned them toward the circular stair that led into the keep. "But I'd prefer that you _not_ bring this up with your mother."

* * *

**A/N: Hmm...How will their journey to the Borders go? Will Schuester's men live up to their imposing statures? Will Brittany and Santana get much alone time? Find out the answers to these questions and more next time!**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I will be back with chapter 15 soon! :)  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Greetings, everyone!**

**Well, my workload has gone a little crazy, as is typical of this time of the semester, so sorry for the delay in this chapter! :)  
**

**Reviews! :)  
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**_Guest (#1) - _Thank you for the review! I'm so glad you're liking the story so far, and I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :)  
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**_Rioux - _Thanks for the review! Haha, yeah...you may be right to be anxious about what's going to happen next ;) And I love that you are overly suspicious of Lady Clara already lol! We'll see very shortly if your gut feeling is right or not ;) Hahahaha, I'm sure Brittany would _love_ to kick the crap out of someone...maybe she'll get a chance? ;) Anywho, thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**_Guest (#2) - _Haha, sorry you're not really caring for the amount of time it's taking for Santana and Brittany to declare their love for one another. But...yeah, Brittany is definitely ready to burst. If it weren't for her parents, she would have told her already lol. I'm glad you like the story anyway! Ummm...not really sure why I'm responding to you since you're not going to read it again until the story is finished, but here you go anyway. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story :)  
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**_Guest (#3) - _Hahaha yeah, Brittany and Santana totally need some alone time ;) Will they get it, though? We'll see ;) Hehehe, yes, it does seem like Sam was right about Brittany being the first to marry :) Or...maybe something will happen to delay Brittana's happily-ever-after...*shrugs* We'll just have to wait and see hehe. So glad you liked the part where Brittany told her parents she loves Santana :D She's just itching to tell Santana hehe, but no...her parents had to put in their two-cents...lol Oh, well. When she finally does tell her it will be all the sweeter, right? ;) Anywho, thanks so much for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_Desi - _Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're liking the story! You might be right with your suspicion of Schuester, but then again, you might not be ;) I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :D  
**

**That's all for now. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

The Schuester warriors were indeed a surly group, and their hostility grew less veiled the farther they traveled from Benmore Castle.

Brittany couldn't care less, though, for she and Santana had chosen their own pace for most of the day, forcing the Lowlanders to slow down. But with nightfall approaching, Brittany sent a couple of her own men ahead with several of the Schuesters in search of a suitable place to settle down until morning. As they waited for the scouting group to return, they continued on slowly.

Despite their apprehension over meeting with Clara in only a few days' time, Santana and Brittany had had a truly enjoyable day. The blonde had told Santana much of the history of the Highlands as they had passed across the lands of the clans. The brunette had questioned her about ways that she could bring more prosperity to the people of the Lindsay clan. The conversation had turned to family. Brittany had told Santana about the blonde's own immediate family.

"I am ashamed to think how little I know about my own kin," Santana said. "Lord Alec told me that my father had no siblings and that both his parents were gone before I was ever born. And I know now that my mother was from the Lopez family, of the Borders." Santana lowered her voice and glanced wearily at the company of Lowlanders riding at some distance ahead of them. "But as far as the family connection between the Lopez's and the Schuesters, I don't remember anything of them."

Brittany nodded. "My mother mentioned that there are Lopez's on both sides of the Tweed, in the Lowlands and the hills of the Borders, and in England, as well. And what my father remembers of Philip Lopez II, your grandfather, is that he had five daughters. Before his death, he managed to arrange profitable marriages for all of them."

"I do vaguely remember Lady Clara speaking of her older sisters. There were times, I think, when she missed them badly. But I believe that she also resented them for having either English husbands or husbands from the Borders," Santana said, shaking her head sadly. Since that morning at Ravenie Castle, the lost pieces of her childhood memory kept falling into place. It was like an intricate puzzle. The more pieces she added, the clearer the solution became. "'Tis upsetting to think of my mother's prejudice against the Highlanders. I cannot believe she ever gave her new people—or her husband—a chance."

"People change," Brittany offered softly as she pushed her horse nearer to the brunette's and affectionately took Santana's hand. "She has been living under the protection of this man, her cousin—this William Schuester—for eleven years now. He must be a good and honorable man to shoulder such a responsibility. Clara very well could be a different person from the one you remember. Greet her with an open mind, Santana. Give her a chance," Brittany said, smiling warmly and gazing intently into Santana's deep brown eyes.

Santana's eyes, dark and beautiful, glowed with newfound hope when she smiled at the blonde. "All I have to say, though, is that she had better treat you well. If she doesn't, she will learn quickly how much _I_ have changed," Santana said fiercely, smirking devilishly.

Brittany couldn't stop herself. She leaned over and kissed Santana. The reins slipped from her slender fingers, forgotten as Brittany gave herself over to the feeling of Santana's soft, full lips moving in tandem with hers, the fluttering of her heart, and the intense passion pulsing deep within herself.

The sound of approaching horses jarred them back to reality. Brittany very reluctantly drew back and looked along the ridge on which they were traveling. The group of men who had ridden ahead was cantering back to the main party. She glanced over her at Santana. A deep blush had spread over her perfect olive skin. Brittany, whose cheeks were equally as flushed, brought her fingers to her lips and smiled.

"We have found a place," came the shout from a Schuester warrior. Brittany and Santana both turned to look at the man.

The place they had found was a deserted cottage beside a loch. A pine forest to the south of the place would provide wood for their fires and a windbreak besides. Santana, as the most important person on the journey, would sleep in the cottage, such as it was, while everyone else could camp by the edge of the forest.

As they descended into the glade where the small cottage sat, Brittany ordered her own men to join with the Schuesters in setting up a watch on two small hills overlooking the area. She hadn't expected the place to be so isolated, and the mist rising from the loch did nothing to dispel the feeling of gloom that pervaded the abandoned farm. But night was already upon them, and there wasn't any time to search out a better place.

Brittany dismounted and surveyed her surroundings. As confident as she had been before in not asking for more Pierces to accompany them to the Borders, she was now having her doubts. In another day they would be out of the Highlands, and Santana's account of coming face to face with her father's murderer kept echoing in Brittany's mind. It was possible that the murderer was still out there. Perhaps he had even heard that Santana was alive. He could be biding his time, waiting for the right moment to cause Santana harm. Between the Pierces and the Schuesters, there were plenty of people to defend her, but Brittany didn't know much about either the courage or the fighting ability of these Lowlanders.

Some of the men had already started fires and were setting up camp by the trees. Brittany helped Santana down from her horse and asked her to stay with the others as the blonde went inside to check the cottage, earning a reluctant nod from the brunette.

There was a door and a narrow window in the front of the place. The walls appeared solid enough. A hole in the thatched roof served to let out the smoke from an open fire pit in the center of the packed dirt floor. Brittany started a fire immediately, for the cottage was damp and cold. With the exception of a pile of old straw in the corner, there was nothing else in the building.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here with me?"

Brittany turned to find Santana standing by the door. She looked bone-tired, and Brittany had a feeling that the brunette's question was not intended to tease her. Brittany sensed that Santana was genuinely uncomfortable about this place.

"Do you feel it, too?" Brittany asked, looking hard at the shorter girl.

"'Tis just that...I don't know what I'm feeling," Santana murmured, stepping in as a loud rumble of thunder rolled in across the hills. "'Tis not as if we haven't been alone before. On the Isle of May, we managed to sleep—"

"I know," Brittany interrupted softly. "But there are too many men here who will happily carry back to your mother any story that might smack of impropriety." Brittany looked at her and tried very hard to sound reassuring. "I'll be right outside your door. Just call me if you need me."

Santana nodded with a sigh of resignation and leaned her back against the wall. Brittany went outside and carried back a couple of blankets. Santana insisted on making up her own bedding, and then she refused any supper. Right after Brittany kissed her goodnight, though, and turned to leave the cottage, Santana touched her arm. "You _will_ be near," she stated, more than asked.

Brittany smiled warmly at the brunette's mild demand. "I'll be here just outside the threshold," Brittany said, pointing to her spot next to the doorway. But the look of nervousness in the brunette's face was obvious. "Is there something that you are not telling me?" Brittany asked, concerned.

Santana shook her head. "I'm just tired."

She seemed much more than simply tired to Brittany, but the blonde nodded her consent anyway, kissed Santana again softly on the mouth, and went to take her place outside the door.

* * *

Santana walked blindly, feeling before her as she pushed ahead. Through spiderwebs and mists she moved, her fingers touching the rough stone walls and the places where something cold and wet and unidentifiable oozed down the rock. More and more, she began to find doors on every side of her. But none of them would budge, no matter how hard she pushed at them. They felt like thick slabs of wood fixed by some ogre king in a cave wall of solid rock.

The air in the corridor was growing increasingly musty and dense. Globs of wet grit dripped off the ceiling onto her hair and face. As she pushed on, a sense of panic was gradually governing her movements. Her fingers scratched at the walls. She was growing desperate for any opening, but there was nothing. Her breathing was becoming labored. The corridors seemed to be growing narrower the farther she moved in. But she couldn't stay still. She couldn't go back. The place had the feel of a grave, but there seemed to be no escape.

Blackness enveloped her, and she suddenly had no idea if she was standing or lying down. There was no up. No down. She was floating.

And then Santana saw the sliver of light coming through what looked to be a wooden door straight ahead. Oriented once again, she rushed toward it, but the walls continued to close in. Stones and mud were now showering her as she ran, pelting her. She ignored the bruising of her face, the pain in her hands as she tried to push past the walls and reach the door.

And then she was in front of it.

The light of a brilliant sun poured through the crack in the door. Warmth emanated from the very surface of the wood. Santana saw the latch and reached for it. It, too, was warm. Lifting the latch, she began to push the door open.

_Do not go inside!_

The shout of warning echoed off the walls. Or was it from somewhere inside her own head? It was a voice she knew. But the light seemed to be drawing her on. She was cold. She was frightened. She needed to escape this netherworld, this grave. Santana stared at her own finger clutching desperately at the latch.

"But I need the light…to find my way!" Her voice was small and hollow in the dark.

_You can find your way without it. You can, Santana._

Her fingers dropped to her side. She took a step back. Her gaze was drawn to the latch. It had started to glow in the darkness. She took another step backward. The door started swinging open on its own. When it was open wide, she could see the distant light shining at the end of the long tunnel. The walls beyond the door were smooth. Santana took another step back as she saw the light moving closer. Faster and faster it came, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

It was growing warmer. She was burning. The light continued to come, but she couldn't back away fast enough. Her back banged hard against a wall, and she gasped as the light transformed into a ball of fire, hurtling toward her.

* * *

Santana sat up and stared into the blanket of darkness around her. She couldn't catch her breath. Shivers racked her body, and yet she was covered in sweat.

At first she didn't know where she was, and then, as the dream receded, she remembered the cottage, the camp. Brittany had promised to be right outside. She scrambled to her feet. She didn't stop to pick up her cloak. She just knew she had to get out of this place. She had to run. Santana stumbled over the blankets, but managed to right herself before she reached the door.

She slipped out into the night, but Brittany was not by her door. A new wave of panic seized her, and she felt the taste of bile rising in her throat. She had to get out of this place. She had to run.

_Run._ The same familiar voice pounded in her head. _Run._

Santana saw the gleaming waters of the loch and raced toward it. Down through the meadow she went, following a ditch and keeping her eye on the loch. As she passed a grove of trees, a pair of strong hands seized Santana from behind. She fought and thrashed against them, but just as she was about to scream, she recognized the hushed whisper. Brittany. Santana turned in her arms.

"What is it, Santana?" Brittany touched her face, her arms, inspecting the brunette for any physical evidence that she was injured. "You're shaking. What happened?" Brittany asked again, worry filling her voice.

Santana shook her head and a sob rose in her throat. "I couldn't find you," she whispered. "I couldn't find my way."

Brittany wrapped an arm around Santana's shoulders and walked her toward the loch. "I thought I heard something—or someone—by the horses. I went to look and then saw you run this way," Brittany explained quietly. At the stony edge of the loch, the blonde knelt and trailed her hand in the water.

"You are burning." She ran her wet hand over the brunette's face. Santana welcomed the bracing feel of the water, but even more so, she cherished the other girl's touch.

A crackling hiss drew their attention back toward the cottage, and they stared uncomprehendingly for a long moment.

The cottage was on fire.

Brittany drew her sword and pushed Santana behind her as a handful of riders broke out of the woods near the cottage and raced past the burning building. As they rode, some shot flaming arrows through the window and into the doorway, while others dropped bundles of sticks in front of the door. Soon, those too had been torched, and the building became a blazing inferno.

Those in the camp were up and running after the retreating riders, while others were rushing toward the cottage. But before they could do anything, the roof of the cottage caved in and moments later the walls began to collapse inward. Flames and sparks of yellow and gold climbed high into the night sky.

The scene before her was unread. Santana sat in a heap on the stones of the side of the loch. How close she had come to being caught inside of the burning building, perhaps even shot by a burning arrow. She saw it in her mind—like a fireball, the arrow hurtling toward her.

Santana looked around for Brittany. Two Pierce warriors, standing with their weapons drawn, were standing near her. But Brittany was up by the burning cottage, shouting orders to the Schuesters and the Pierces. There seemed to be no sign of the outlaws. They had disappeared into the night with the same speed with which they had materialized.

A few minutes later, Santana saw Brittany coming across the field to her, and she pushed herself to her feet. Instead of saying anything, the blonde simply pulled Santana tightly into her arms and held her there for the longest time.

Finally, Brittany pulled back just enough to look into Santana's face. "That was too close. Propriety be damned, I am not letting you out of my sight until we arrive at Ninestane Castle," she said fiercely.

"Who were they?" Santana asked, although she doubted Brittany knew the answer.

"The Schuesters think they were just outlaws," Brittany replied, then cupped Santana's face gently and looked deeply into her eyes. "But you saw what happened. I think they were after _you_, Santana."

Santana shivered uncontrollably at the blonde's last statement.

"If you feel strong enough, I would like to get moving now. If these bastards are watching us, which I assume they are, 'twill not take them long to realize you weren't hurt or killed in the attack. We won't be caught in such an unprotected place again," Brittany told her, determination and worry burning brightly in her sea-blue eyes.

"I am fine," Santana assured her. Santana mustered all of her strength and took another look at the dying bonfire that was once a cottage. "I have been given another chance. I don't want to waste it."

* * *

**A/N: Well, cheese and crackers...Someone definitely means business when it comes to Santana...I wonder who set the fire? Who was behind it? _Was_ it a targeted attack against Santana? If so, why? The answers to these questions and more next time!**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I shall be back with Chapter 16 soon! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello, everyone!**

**I'm sorry for the HUGE delay in this chapter! Christmas and New Years, as I'm sure you all know, were very hectic. And work was CRAZY. And then my mom came down with the flu thanks to her good-for-nothing husband, and that triggered a really bad asthma attack, so I was also spending time with her and making sure she was taken care of, since her husband certainly wouldn't do it. Ahem. Anyway, so that left me with little time or energy to come out with a new chapter in a timely fashion. Really sorry about that guys. Anyway, I'm back home in my tiny apartment, so updates _should_ be more regular now :)  
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**Anonymous reviews!  
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**_DaDa_ - Thank you for the review! :) "I hate his butt chin already." Omg...Hahahahahaaaa! Me too. Me. Too. lol. I, too, would love Brittany just to go batcrap crazy on his ass lol. But...who knows what will happen? ;) Anywho, thanks again for your very entertaining review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_Rioux_ - Thanks for your review! Haha, I love your paranoia. It means I'm doing something right lol. And who knows...maybe your paranoia hits on the truth ;) We'll just have to wait and see ;) Thank you for your review, again, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!  
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**_Britannafaberry_ - Thank you for your review! I'm really glad you're so obsessed with this story, and I hope you're still interested after this long wait :) They finally meet Santana's mom in this chapter, so we'll see how it goes! :) Thanks again!  
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**_Guest _ - Thanks! and...here's your update you asked for :) I hope you like it!  
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**_r el_ - Thank you for the review! Well, here you are! I hope you enjoy this update and the rest of the story! :)  
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**Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to my most favorite person in the entire world (she knows who she is), because she's been going through some crappy stuff these past couple of weeks, and I live way too far away for me to actually be able to be there for her in person, so...hopefully this puts a little bright spot in her day. :)**

**Happy reading! :D  
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* * *

Tired and cold from the falling rain, the travelers first saw the tower at twilight rising drearily above the brown river Tweed. Ninestane Castle, situated on a muddy pile of rock at a bend in the river, did not present a picture of hospitality in the increasing gloom, and the impression served only to heighten Santana's anxiety.

They had ridden for so long and so hard that Santana could not tell the difference between her legs and the saddle. She was soaked to the skin from the days of steady rain. She was tired and hungry. But as determined as she was to get this meeting behind her, Santana reined in her horse on the last hill and looked at the scenery before her. The countryside was soggy and the ground brown and slick with mud. The tower, rising above the curtain wall, was gray and forbidding.

Santana rubbed her hand across her stomach to ease the tight knot that had gripped her insides for days.

"How are you bearing up?" Brittany asked, bringing her own horse to a stop beside the brunette.

"I don't know." Santana couldn't tear her gaze away from the formidable structure. "I suppose I'm frightened."

"She is your mother, Santana. How could she not love you?" Brittany inquired, as though there were no other way it could be.

Santana frowned, realizing there was no excitement left in her. Only apprehension.

"No battle cry has been sounded, and yet you are armed and ready," Brittany told her with a smile. She ran a finger gently over the brunette's olive cheeks, brushing away droplets of rain.

There were calls from the group that there were riders from the castle approaching. Resigned to face what lay ahead, Santana rode beside Brittany and was soon greeted by a larger group of Schuesters. These people were no more cordial than the ones she had been riding beside for what felt like an eternity. With an encouraging nod from Brittany, she again pushed ahead.

As they passed through a small village huddled against the curtain wall of the castle, Santana couldn't help noticing the ramshackle condition of the houses. The threadbare group of villagers they passed stood in the rain and gawked at Santana and Brittany and the Pierces, surrounded by the Schuesters as if they were a captured enemy. Santana looked into the thin, haggard faces, and she knew that she was not going to like this William Schuester.

So much of what she saw here reminded Santana of what she had seen in the faces of the Lindsays. There was no doubt in her mind that this same man must have been responsible for employing Hudson to manage Ravenie Castle and its holdings.

Urging her mount up the slippery mud path to the castle, Santana felt her distress continue to grow. Lady Clara had always complained of her husband and her life in the Highlands, and yet this seemed infinitely worse.

There was so much about her mother that Santana did not understand.

"Please stay close to me until we at least see Lady Clara," Brittany said quietly.

The blonde obviously shared her concern. Santana nodded to her companion and continued up the short hill to the drawbridge spanning the pit that surrounded the castle wall.

Inside the walls of the old fortress, she peered about nervously at what looked to be dozens of armed Schuesters standing guard. Despite the rain, torches had been lit, and the smoky fires filled the confines of the small courtyard. Santana suddenly felt smothered.

A set of wooden steps led from the muddy courtyard to the main entrance of the keep, and she and Brittany brought their horses to a halt near it.

"I believe we have arrived," Brittany said brightly with an overly wide smile, obviously trying to ease the tension. Santana did not miss the way the blonde's sword sat loosely on her back, though, or the way the daggers at her belt and in her boot were close at hand. Santana knew, however, that there was not much the handful of them could do against this army of men. She placed her hands on Brittany's shoulders as the Highlander helped her down from the horse. Her feet sank up to her ankles in the mud as soon as they landed on the ground.

Brittany must have seen her first because a light of recognition flashed in her blue eyes and she steadied her gaze past Santana onto some unknown figure. Santana took in a quick, inaudible breath when she allowed her gaze to follow Brittany's. The willowy woman stood just under the overhand of the main entrance, her hands folded tightly at her waist.

A feeling of joy rushed through Santana. Eleven years of separation meant nothing, and she was once again a young child hungry for her mother's affection…and for her approval. Santana forced herself to be dignified, though, and she started towards the steps with an unhurried, though brisk, pace.

Despite the mantle of fur around her shoulders, Lady Clara was still as thin as Santana remembered her. She could see her mother's eyes or the expression on her face. She had to hold a hand above her face to block the rain in order to continue looking up at the older woman.

"Welcome, Santana Catherine. So you have finally come." Something in the woman's tone made Santana pause before taking the first step. It lacked any hint of joy, and there was a quaver in it that made Santana think that perhaps she was afraid. But afraid of what? Of Brittany? Of Santana herself?

She stood for a moment and stared up at the woman, and then glanced at Brittany, who was still waiting to be recognized.

"What are you waiting for?" Lady Clara snapped impatiently. "You will come into the hall." Without waiting for them, Clara turned on her heel and disappeared through the door.

Disappointment slapped Santana across the face. The happiness of a moment ago soured in her throat.

"Let's go inside," Brittany murmured in her ear. Taking her gently by the arm, the blonde encouraged her up the steps.

A spiral stairwell inside took them up to the great hall of Ninestane Castle. It was a high, wood-paneled chamber with a great fire burning in a fireplace at one end of the room. Servants moved about the smoky hall, and a half dozen armed Schuester warriors glared at the Highlanders. A few feet from their mistress, a number of ladies-in-waiting watched attentively. Clara, however, was standing alone by the dais when Brittany and Santana crossed the room.

"Millie will take you to your bedchamber, Santana. You can clean and change for dinner." Dismissing her with a wave of her hand, Clara indicated that Santana was to follow a servant who stepped forward. The domineering woman turned to Brittany next. "You will take your men around to the west wing to the kitchen. You all will be fed, and then you will start back to the Highlands…tonight."

Santana shook off her shock at the abrupt treatment and spoke up as brightly as she could. "Mother, 'tis wonderful to see you after so many years." She took Brittany's arm and presented her. "Please allow me to present Brittany Pierce, the youngest child of Lord Alec Pierce and Lady Evelyn Drummond Stewart. She is the brave noblewoman who found me on the Isle of May."

Lady Clara looked coldly from one to the other for a long moment.

"If you think there is a reward to be collected, Highlander," Clara said shortly, "you are gravely mistaken. Sir William sent enough men to escort my daughter back. 'Twas your own choice to travel so far—"

"M'lady, she is _not_ here to collect any reward," Santana shot back, her own temper rising. Her greatest fears had materialized. "'Twas because of this woman and her family's compassion and generosity that I stand before you now. I owe her my life." She sensed Brittany was about to make an objection, so she looped her hand through the blonde's arm and held it tightly. "She is not here to be paid for anything she has done. She is here because she cared enough to come and make certain I am safely settled. She is my friend, and it gave me great pleasure to know that you would have an opportunity to meet her, too."

There was an instant of silence as all color drained from her mother's face.

"You are speaking nonsense, Santana Catherine. Befriending a Highlander!" Clara looked with disdain at Santana's wet and muddy attire. "Up to your room this instant. I want you out of those filthy clothes. Already you are a disappointment. I can see I shall have a lifetime of instructing ahead of me to correct all that you are lacking," she said sternly, her eyes as cold as ice despite their deep brown color.

Santana stared with disbelief at the thin and rigid figure by the dais.

Brittany spoke her first words since arriving in the hall. "If you will give us a moment, m'lady, perhaps we can start over. You will be pleasantly surprised at how accomplished your daughter is, in spite of—nay, because of—her time on the island," she said warmly, affection clear in her voice.

But Lady Clara merely scoffed. "Accomplished in what way? In shearing sheep, mending a fishing net, being a simpleton? I read the letter you people sent to me. She is obviously incapable even of exercising good judgment."

"And how capable _you_ are of good judgment!" Brittany fired back, her blue eyes sparkling with indignation. "To make such a detailed assessment of your own daughter with just a moment's look and a few exchanged words." She shook her head. "If your idea of accomplishment consists of insensitivity and arrogance, how fortunate Santana is that fate plucked her from your bosom at such a tender age. Aye, she was indeed blessed."

"Who are you to speak to me!" Clara whispered furiously.

Tears then filled the woman's eyes, but she did not wipe them away. She turned from Brittany and fixed her gaze on the floor at her daughter's feet. Once again attuned to her mother's ways, Santana watched Clara's temper turn to sorrow.

"I cannot believe I am to be treated to heartlessly. A grieving mother. My life shattered by the belief that my only child was lost forever. The endless nights of prayer and anguish. The days of lonely reflection. The loss of hope. The despair that I should be the only one left." Clara turned tearful, accusing eyes on Santana. "And then the news that you were alive. And what do you do? Instead of coming directly to your own kin—to your mother—you decide to go and hold court with strangers in the Highlands. You chose them over me. And then…then you expect me, your mother, at my age and in my condition, to come and pay homage to you."

"M'lady, 'twas not like that!" Santana blurted out. "'Twas not out of disrespect that you were invited there."

"If you will hear me for a moment," Brittany added calmly, "you will understand that I recommended that Santana come to Benmore Castle first, in part because we did not know where you were residing at present. As your daughter says, there was no disrespect intended."

"Say what you will, but I have been deeply wounded."

Santana opened her mouth to say more, but Clara raised a hand for silence and turned sharply to Brittany. "Miss, you have done your duty and delivered my daughter safely to me. Now you will take your leave immediately. I have no wish to be disturbed any longer by the presence of filthy Highlanders in Ninestane Castle."

Having dismissed her, Lady Clara turned back to her daughter.

"And you, Santana Catherine, are now under my protection. You will do as I see fit. And just so that you understand the magnitude of my disappointment, my plan has been to present you at court and negotiate a suitable marriage on your behalf. But that can happen only after you have been properly instructed in the ways of gentility. And 'tis abundantly clear to me that Sir William and I have a great deal of work ahead of us," She finished with a disapproving frown at her only child.

"But Mother, I—"

"That is the end of this discussion. You will do as you are told," Clara interrupted brusquely. "I will receive you in my chambers once you changed into more suitable attire. Say good-bye to your Highlander. You shall not be seeing her again."

With a withering glance at Brittany, Lady Clara turned and glided from the hall.

* * *

Angry and frustrated, Brittany ran a weary hand over her face and stared after the woman. This was not exactly how she had imagined this meeting would go. The setback of not being able to explain everything properly had her blood boiling.

_By the saints,_ she thought, she hadn't helped any by losing her temper with the woman, either. She was clearly the devil himself, as far as Santana's mother was concerned, and Brittany was at a loss regarding how to remedy that now.

"That is not the way I imagined things would go." Santana's sad whisper drew her attention. The brunette's face was flushed. Her beautiful dark eyes were brimming with tears. "Will you ever be able to forgive me for bringing you into the midst of this?"

"I wanted to come. And now, more than ever before, I am glad that I was here." Brittany gently touched Santana's face.

"I remember _everything_ about her now, Brittany," she said in a low voice. "I don't want to stay here. I want to go back to Ravenie. That is where I belong. Will you take me back to the Highlands with you?"

Brittany smiled warmly. "I will." By the main entrance to the hall, a dozen Schuesters had taken up their positions. She remembered the army of them in the courtyard. They would have no chance of fighting their way out. "There are complications that we need to straighten out, though," she added solemnly.

She glanced again at the door. Santana's eyes followed the direction of the blonde's look.

"You must stay here tonight with your mother. Perhaps if you were to speak to her again when things are calmer, once I have left the castle, she will have a more agreeable opinion of you."

"And where will you be?" Santana asked, her voice hushed.

The servant who was supposed to escort Santana upstairs moved nearer to them. There was no doubt in Brittany's mind that everything that was said here between them would be reported to Lady Clara.

"I'll return to the Highlands," Brittany said, certain that the servant heard her words clearly.

Santana bit her lip, but a sob escaped nonetheless. Brittany pulled her tightly into her arms.

Her words were a rough whisper in the brunette's ear. "I shall somehow get a message to you, tomorrow or the next day at the latest. I will _not_ leave the Borders without you, even if I have to lay siege to this castle myself."

Santana gave a small nod, but when they pulled out of the embrace, the sadness was still there.

* * *

**A/N: Oh, no! Santana's mom is _not_ what we all hoped she would be...Not like Lady Evelyn at _all_. But maybe Brittany's right and Santana can change her mom's mind :) We'll just have to see what the next chapter brings...**

**Anywho, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Next one shall be out shortly! Word of warning...this story is ending fairly soon, so...sorry? lol. Have a good day, everyone!  
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	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Greetings, readers! :)**

**LOTS of stuff happening in this chapter. :) Next chapter will probably be the last, though. Don't worry! A ton of stuff is going to be happening between here and the end. I hope it doesn't disappoint _too_ much. ;)  
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**Ahem. Some of you guys left HILARIOUS reviews! So...intense and awesomely entertaining! So glad I can get you guys to want to slap/punch/cut/stab someone in my story! Totally awesome :) ANYwho...moving on.  
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**Anonymous reviews!  
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**_r e l - _Thanks for the review! Here's a new update! Happy reading :)  
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**_Rioux - _Thank you for the review! Omg, it. Was. HiLARious! I just...your review was so awesome and funny, so thanks for the laugh! We'll see if Brittany does, indeed, have to cut a bitch soon! ;) I hope you like the new chapter and thanks again! :D  
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**Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to _Leggofmyeggo_ because she shamelessly inflated my ego in her review hehe. So, thanks ;)  
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**Without further ado, enjoy! :D**

* * *

Millie, the serving woman, was small and thin and spoke scarcely two words as she led Santana up a winding stone stairwell to the bedchamber where she was to stay.

"They'll bring up yer things." With that abrupt announcement, the servant retreated unceremoniously toward the door.

"Will someone come after me to show me the way to Lady Clara's room?" Santana called after the woman.

"She will send for ye when she wants ye," the older woman said curtly from the landing. Without another word, she disappeared down the steps.

Santana wondered if anyone would really try to stop her if she were to run down these same steps and out to the courtyard. Perhaps Brittany had not yet left. Going quickly to the door, she stopped as the sound of footsteps reached her ears. A second later, two large men came around the bend of stairs. One was carrying her small trunk. The other stopped and placed the torch he was carrying in the wall sconce on the landing. He didn't move even after the first one had wordlessly dropped Santana's things in her room and walked past her at the door and down the stairs.

The guard looked at her from the corridor outside her door without any feeling. A sudden realization hit Santana like a wave crashing against the shore of the May. She was being held prisoner.

Brittany's promise of sending word—of not going back to the Highlands without her—was Santana's only source of hope as she closed the door to her small room.

The only furniture in the room was the bed, and a narrow archer's slit in the wall served for a window. The opening was covered with a piece of skin that flapped in the chill breeze. The wood floor was not even covered with rushes.

Santana had taken one step toward her trunk when she heard a bar drop in a latch on the outside of her door. She whirled and tried to pull the door open, but to no avail.

Her mother was indeed keeping her prisoner.

* * *

"Are the Highlanders gone?"

"They are, m'lady. And just as ye ordered, a company of Sir William's men are following them to make sure they are not hanging about without ye knowing," Millie responded to her harsh mistress, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Lady Clara nodded her approval. "Very well. Now then, I want you to take her some food." Clara spoke impatiently to Millie as she sat before the large looking glass while another maidservant brushed her hair. "And see to it that she has a brazier for her bedchamber and water for washing, if she asks for it."

"She was asking to see ye," Millie said.

"Harder. Brush harder," Clara ordered, ignoring the comment.

"She thinks ye'll be sending for her this night," the serving woman persisted.

"Well, she is wrong. I won't be having anything to do with her until Sir William gets back." Clara worriedly touched the dark circles under her eyes. There were grim lines turning down the corners of her full lips. Her jaw was taut. Her deep brown eyes seemed to have lost their luster. She looked old, and it was Santana's fault.

"What should I be telling her?" Millie inquired quietly.

"That she is being punished for her heartless behavior toward me." Clara met the old servant's gaze in the mirror. "Tell her that all mercy lies in the hands of Sir William Schuester. Tell her that she should work on improving her manner for when she meets him."

"How about if I just tell her that yer ladyship will send for her when ye're ready?"

Clara turned sharply in her seat too scold the old woman, but Millie quickly slipped from the room.

"The devil take you, too," she said harshly. "Just wait until Sir William hears about your insolence!"

* * *

The thing gray light of dawn filtered through the narrow window, and Santana drew her knees tighter to her chest. An untouched trencher of food sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed. The traveling clothes that she had washed the mud from herself hung from a single peg on the wall. Neither the chamber pot nor the basin of water that she had used to wash up had been removed from the room.

Last night Santana had waited until long after all the noises of the castle had died away before giving up hope of her mother sending for her. And for the rest of the night she had lain awake on the narrow bed, staring vacantly at the red glow of dying embers in the brazier and trying to make some sense out of her situation.

During her years on the Isle of May, she hadn't been able to remember her childhood. But now she had a clear recollection of how things had been. Her nurse Elsie had been the one in charge of raising Santana. Lady Clara's role had been to scold, to correct, to be critical of everything and everyone around her, and to list Sir Stephen's numerous flaws daily to the young Santana. Her mother had been unhappy then, and Santana guessed that not much had changed in her over the years.

But what were they going to do to her now? What was the reason for locking her up like this? Millie and another servant had brought the food and water and brazier to the room last night. Neither had said a word. Millie had refused to answer any of Santana's questions.

Her greatest worry lay with Brittany. What if they had imprisoned her in the same way that they had locked Santana away? Even worse, what if they had hurt her?

A heavy door squeaked on old hinges somewhere down the steps. A few moments later Santana heard snatches of a conversation outside her door. Quietly Santana placed her feet on the cold wood floor and stared anxiously at the door.

After what seemed like an eternity, a bar lifted on the far side. Santana stood as the door swung open just enough for Millie to enter. The heavy oak door banged shut behind her.

The woman was carrying a single platter that she placed next to the untouched trencher from last night. She made her way around the room, checking the chamber pot, adding a block of peat to the small brazier.

"Good morning," Santana offered, knowing that, despite her own frustration, this woman was not the cause of her troubles.

Instead of answering her, the servant cast a furtive glance at the door and made a gesture that someone might be listening there. Santana's spirit lifted as she realized that she might have an ally, after all, at Ninestane Castle. While fanning the flame in the brazier, the woman motioned to her to speak. Santana nodded her understanding.

"Look," she said loudly, "I have waited long enough. Why are they holding me like this?"

"I cannot say, mistress," the servant replied before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Yer Highlander's back. She sends word that she will be waiting for ye tomorrow at dawn, past the village and up the river a wee bit…at the place where ye first stopped when ye saw the castle."

"But how will I get out of here?" Santana whispered back just as softly.

"Ye and I will be changing places when I bring yer food in the morning. The guard who will be watching tonight"—she pointed at the door—"he's fond of his ale and his sleep. And this early in the morning, no one will stop ye if ye go down the stairs, out through the kitchens, and head straight for the village. Servants and workers go back and forth all the time this early in the morning."

"Bless you, Millie." Santana clutched the old woman's hand. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I've been paid well already by yer Highlander, mistress. Also, I have been with yer mother long enough to know ye'll be better off far away from here." The old woman's face grew serious. "For sure, though, ye'll be wanting to be away long before Sir William arrives. The master can be a fierce one, and I'm thinking ye'll not be liking him one bit."

* * *

"She is Santana, I tell you. That creature _is_ my daughter."

"And?" Sir William Schuester asked casually, eying Clara, who was pacing impatiently before him. The Lowlander had arrived at sunset—a day earlier than expected—but before he could settle down for his supper, he was told that Lady Clara needed to have a private audience with him immediately.

"Do as you must with her," she ordered sharply, turning to him. "She is like her filthy father—in structure, in manners, in her arrogance. Send her to hell, for all I care!"

"Things are no longer so simple," William said thoughtfully, scratching his chin.

"Then _make_ it simple," she replied haughtily. "And do it now, as I do not want to hear from her, see her, or have anything to do with her. I couldn't sleep last night. And all day I have been having visions of that brute Stephen, appearing from nowhere before me. Bury her alive. Drown her if you wish, but—"

William's grip was bruising when it clamped down on Clara's wrist. With a single movement, he yanked her against him.

"Watch your tongue," he said in a growl. "You are behaving like a madwoman. I will have no talk of dead men appearing. And I tell you, after your reception of the Pierce lass yesterday, you could find my head on a spiked pole with that kind of talk."

"That filthy Highlander deserved to be—"

"That filthy Highlander happens to be a cousin of the queen herself. That filthy Highlander is a scion of the most influential clans in Scotland," he all but snarled at her.

"How dare you treat me like this!" Clara hissed, pulling away from him. "But it doesn't make one bit of difference, does it? She was better off on that island. But now that she is here, she must _never_ leave. And we both know why," she finished with a knowing look at William.

William stared closely into her face. "Nothing can happen to her while she is under my protection," he ordered.

"What do you mean?" Clara seethed through clenched teeth. "Would you like me to send for her now? Do you have any doubt that she will recognize the face of her father's murderer?"

* * *

Santana ceased her pacing when she heard the footsteps coming up the stairwell. A moment later the latch lifted.

Millie slipped inside, carrying a clean chamber pot. Immediately Santana knew that something was wrong when the old woman motioned for them to get away from the door.

"He's here, mistress. He and his men returned an hour ago," Millie said, her voice thick with anxiety

"Sir William?" Santana asked, and the servant nodded nervously. She had so many questions, but she knew that this was not the time to ask them. Things like, How could Sir William's treatment of her possibly be any worse than her mother's?

"Ye had better leave tonight. There's no telling where he will move ye from here or who he will put to keep watch." Her voice hushed even more, and the old woman's eyes showed her genuine fear. "He is a devil in ways ye don't know, mistress. Tomorrow could be too late."

"You said Brittany will meet me at dawn. Can I leave the castle, get through the gates tonight?" Santana asked urgently.

The older woman nodded. "Aye, if ye hurry. I don't know if yer girl'll be there now or meet ye there in the morn, but spending a night in the woods would be far safer than waiting here."

Millie's nervousness was rubbing off on Santana. While the servant rattled off the layout of the castle, the tow of them hurriedly exchanged their clothes.

"Are you sure they will not do anything to you?" Santana asked as Millie pushed the full chamber pot into her arms and pulled the kerchief lower on Santana's forehead.

"Nay, miss." She picked up the washbasin, a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes. "By the time they come in, I will have a fine welt where ye dinged me with this. 'Twas all yer doing."

Millie tapped on the door and pulled quickly back. Santana's heart was lodged in her throat when the door opened a crack and a tall warrior peered down at her. She held the chamber pot up and looked back at Millie as the man let her through.

She didn't even pause to take a breath on the landing. Peering through the darkness past the single torch on the wall, Santana brushed past the guard and moved silently down the narrow set of stairs. A few steps down, she heard voices at the bottom of the stairs and nearly tripped, but she caught the pot at the last minute and continued on.

Reaching an arched doorway at the bottom, Santana saw a door that she remembered Millie said led outside. As she was ready to run for it, though, Santana leaped back, flattening herself against the wall when a portly servant walked in, carrying a tray heaped with food.

"About bloody time ye showed up!" the man complained loudly. "Ye take up this food with the others. Now ye give that to me and take this. And look sharp, hussy!"

Two other servants walked in carrying wine and more food, and there was a jam in the narrow landing. A moment later, though, Santana found the tray in her hands.

"Hurry now. He doesn't like waiting."

A feeling of dread washed through her, settling like ice in her middle. The servant carrying the pitcher of wine walked before her. The other pushed her from behind with the tray she was carrying.

At that moment, Santana knew exactly how it felt to walk to the gallows.

* * *

**A/N: Duh, duh, duhhhhhhhhhhhh! Oh, nooooo! What's going to happen to Santana?! I'm sure we were all _so _surprised that William is a huge douche and the one who murdered Sir Stephen [insert sarcasm here] . But...what is he going to do to Santana? What is going to happen to Lady Clara? _Where_ is Brittany? Will she get to her love in time? Find out the answers to all of these questions and more in the stunning finale of _Washed Ashore_! **

**_Shameless plug! _I will be trying my hand at a historical Faberry story next. I feel that this site has been seriously remiss for a good historical story about ****my other favorite _Glee _pairing**. There are tons of Brittana ones now, but I haven't come across any _amazing_ Faberry ones like there are for Brittana (i.e. _White Shadows, Forbidden, The Knife Thrower's Daughter, etc, etc...)_. Anyway, so, I'm sorry to my readers who don't like Faberry or are tired of them in Brittana stories, but...this next story, which I plan on naming _All That's Best_, is part one of a two-part series. The first will be Faberry, and the second will be Brittana. The second part can be read as completely separate from the Faberry one, so you don't need to feel like you _have _to suffer through Faberry to get to Brittana, but some things will make more sense if you want to read the first one too. Just...FYI :)  


**K, I'm done now. ****I hope you guys liked this chapter! :)** I'll be back soon with chapter 18! :D  



	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Greetings and salutations, readers! :)**

**I just want to say thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed this story! You guys have been awesome :D Also! Thanks to those of you who simply read and enjoyed this story. I'm glad you stuck around to see it through :)**

**Anonymous reviewers!**

_**SecretB **_**- Thanks for the review! I'm so glad you like my stories! :D I do not plan on writing an epilogue for this story, but I _do _plan on it for _A Dangerous Masquerade_. I have a bit of that one written, but it's been put on the back burner for a while due to an insane work/school/etc schedule I have. But, I do plan on it. May not be for a few months, but I do plan on posting one, and I hope everyone likes it :)**** Thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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_**Guest**_**- Thank you for the review! Hahaha, I'm sorry...You're just going to have to imagine those "more than romantic" moments ;) I think you can do it hehe! Yes, definitely more Brittana to come your way in the future, so don't worry :) I have heard of _Battlesong_, but I haven't had time to really sit down and read it yet. It looks really good, so thanks for the suggestion! :) I hope you like this last chapter! :D**

_**Rioux -**_**Thanks for the review, as always :D Hahaha, Lady Clara is definitely coo-coo crazy! I'm sorry for adding undue stress to your poor heart! I hope this chapter helps to sooth your anxiety and puts you at ease. :)**

**That is all I have to say for now. :) Happy reading, everyone! :D**

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"_Nothing_ can happen to her while she is under my protection," William repeated, his tone conveying the danger of his position. "The Pierces would bring the very legions of hell to my gate. They would accuse me of murder and succeed in holding me responsible. We will not take that chance."

"This is the fault of that foul Highlander. We could have claimed that she had never arrived here, if it weren't for _her_." Clara glared accusingly at him. "Your men should have done away with Santana when they were on the road."

William started pacing, his tone exasperated. "They tried, but the accursed lass escaped the burning cottage."

They stopped speaking at the sound of a knock.

"Yer supper, Sir William," one of the servants called, pushing the door open.

Clara glided across the room to the window. It was already dark outside. She shivered as a cool breeze wafted in and chilled her. They had to get rid of Santana. They had to find a way and do it soon.

It was bad enough receiving the letter that Santana was alive. Coming face-to-face with her daughter last night, though, had completely unnerved her. She felt her world crumbling around her once more. Aye, it was all happening again. Eighteen years ago she had loved William Schuester, but no one had listened to her begging and crying that he was the only man that she could love. That he was the only man that she could spend the rest of her life with. It didn't matter to her that he had no wealth. He was a warrior and would earn his place in the world. Even her own sisters had sided with their father and betrayed her.

So Clara had gone to the Highlands bitter and resolute on the course her life would take. If she had been forced to live a life of misery, then by God there would be no peace around her. She would never be happy, and she would make certain that no one around her would be happy, either.

But the misery she inflicted had not been enough. As Stephen spent more and more time in the service of his king, she started meeting secretly again with William. He still loved her. He hadn't forgotten her. He hadn't taken a wife. It was then that they had planned their scheme.

Eleven years ago, she had considered Santana _her_ child. The six-year-old was impressionable enough, and Clara knew she could mold the girl into anything she wished. If all had gone as they had planned, she would have taken the child back with her to the Borders. But that had been the only portion of their scheme that had failed.

And William was certain that the child had seen his face.

Assuming that the girl was dead for all these years had been a great relief. But last night, Clara's world had fallen to pieces around her as she stared into the accusing eyes of her husband.

Santana Catherine was _his_ daughter. In looks, she was similar to Clara. But in spirit, the dead had been raised.

A tray hit the floor with a loud clatter, and Clara turned sharply to see the spilled food a step away from the table where William had seated himself for his supper. The clumsy servant, her head bowed over her task was hurriedly cleaning up the mess. Another servant cursed quietly and continually at the woman and ordered the other two maids to run to the kitchens for more food.

Clara's gaze fixed on the servant. A lock of dark hair had escaped the kerchief. She glimpsed the olive-skinned face, the full lips, the flitting glance at William's missing fingers as he rested his hand on the edge of the table. Clara took a step toward the girl, but she paused as William slowly rose from his chair. His look told her that he had guessed her identity as well.

"I told the cook to send Millie," the other servant continued to complain under her breath as she crouched by the girl, helping with the tray. "Don't know what he's thinking, sending new help with the master's meal. Hurry, ye fumbling puss! Out quick…and take this mess with ye."

Clara frowned at the two women, scrambling on their knees by the table. Santana was wearing Millie. The old fool had taken her up to her bedchamber. She had taken her meals in to her. And now she had helped the girl escape in her clothes. So even her own servants were betraying her. Clara felt her temper rise, and she took another step toward them. Well, it would take only a moment to put a quick end to this treachery. As she opened her mouth to speak, William raised his hand and Clara's gaze shifted to his face. With the slightest shake of his head, he signaled for her to wait.

Santana lifted the tray unsteadily and scurried toward the door.

"Let her go," William said quietly. "That is exactly where I want her, running after her Highlander with witnesses who will swear she stole away of her own accord. Outside of this castle, she is no longer under my protection. And then our problems are solved."

* * *

With her heart drumming in her ears, Santana raced down the steps.

He was coming after her. Him. Her father's killer. Her mother's protector. Now everything made sense. They would kill her for sure now, for she had seen it all.

But had they recognized her?

At the bottom of the stairs, she looked in confusion at the tray in her hands. She couldn't run through the yard with this. But she couldn't risk going to the kitchens, either.

"I'll take that from ye, mistress." The woman's hushed voice behind her made Santana jump. She hadn't even realized that the other servant had followed her down the steps. "Ye run for the gate now, before they figure something's amiss."

Santana gaped at her for a moment, stunned by the servant's words. They were all against Clara. They all knew her for what she was. She let go of the tray when the other woman took it.

"Pull the kerchief down over yer eyes. Walk quick, and don't answer any of them curs at the gate. When ye get clear of the drawbridge, follow the road to the village, but turn right at the split in the road. From there, ye can cut over to the woods before you reach the first cottage. That will take ye to the riverbank." The woman darted a look up the stairwell. "Run, now. I hear someone coming."

"Thank you," Santana whispered raggedly, and pushed through the door the woman pointed to.

The sky was dark and heavy, but there was no rain. Santana's feet sank into the mud outside the door, but she didn't care. Only a handful of men were visible in the courtyard, and Santana was relieved to see a small group of workers crossing the yard toward the gate. She hurried to them and fell in a couple of steps behind the men. She had to stifle the urge to run. She kept her head down, but felt as if everyone in the world knew who she was.

The past twenty-four hours had given Santana a chance to come to terms with her mother's hatred. She had not caused Lady Clara's feelings toward her, but she was not willing to live with them, either. The last few moments, though, had revealed the horrible truth, and another powerful need had surfaced within her: revenge. Santana would avenge her father's murder. But to do that, Santana first had to get away.

There were lewd calls from some of the soldiers keeping watch as Santana pass through the gate. She did as the servant told her, though, and followed the rest of the people out. Once outside the castle's curtain wall, Santana slowed down a little, giving the others an opportunity to move ahead of her.

She found the split in the road and a few moments later was moving silently across the fields toward the woods beyond. Once she had stepped into the trees, however, the darkness became an ominous presence. Every tree and shrub threatened her. The sounds of night intimidated her.

But nothing of what lay ahead compared with the murderous monster behind her.

As she followed a path through the woods, Santana tried to gauge the direction of the river. Once she found that, she would simply follow it to the point where she was to meet Brittany at dawn.

A twig cracked behind her. She turned around, but there was no one. Santana stepped out of the path and waited a moment. Nothing happened, but prickles of vulnerability raced up and down her back. She was completely unfamiliar with her surroundings. Santana had no defense against anything—or anyone—that might be lying in wait in the darkness ahead.

Feeling around at her feet, Santana found a stick, straightened up, and started along the path again. It was all she could do to fight down her panic.

A few moments later, the sound of the river reached her ears. She stopped. Looking around her, though, she could not decide where the sound was coming from. But Santana knew that no matter how bad her confusion was, she still had to choose. It would not be long before Sir William and her mother sent for her. They quite possibly had done so already and found Millie in her place.

The sound of heady footfalls came from behind her on the path. Someone was in the woods. Santana listened, unable to move from the spot. There were more footsteps. The sound of men whispering quietly. They were so near. The Schuesters were after her.

Before she could move, however, a thought pushed forward in her brain: why would Sir William's men need to be quiet? Why not light torches? Send armies of people in search of her?

It could be Brittany and her men. They could be hiding in these same woods. With a sense of relief that almost took her breath away, Santana opened her mouth to call to them…and then stopped.

Whoever it was, they were getting closer, and Santana felt the hairs on her neck stand up. Acting on instinct, she took off again through the woods, away from the sounds. Bramble bushes caught at her clothes and young saplings slapped at her face, but she didn't look back. Frantic, Santana charged on through the dark glade

Santana no longer had any idea where she was or what direction she was going. Confusion surrounded her as she tore through the forest. The pulsing of her heart in her ears blocked out all noised it was not long before her energy started slipping away. Sobs of desperation rose into her throat, choking her. And yet on she ran.

She didn't even see the man who stepped out from behind the tree until she ran into him. His bruising fingers clamped on her arm, and Santana could feel the missing fingers on his right hand. She tried to scream, but fear and shock clawed at her throat.

"And finally we meet." He spoke quietly, without feeling. "And I am very grateful to you for making our little business so simple for me to finish this time."

Santana stared up into his dark eyes and realized that she was no longer thinking of her own end. Her fear dissipated into the darkness like a puff of smoke. Instead, she found that she was filled with rage at the injustice that would never be righted.

"Why?" she said coolly. "Why did you have to kill my father? She could have walked away from the marriage. Why such cold-blooded murder?"

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword," Schuester answered bluntly. "The sword was Stephen's way. He was brave enough, and he was too proud to accept his wife leaving him. It would have been a blemish on his name."

"So you took his life."

"He took Clara against her wishes. And I took her back. It was the way he lived. It was what he knew," Schuester explained again, his voice still devoid of all emotion.

"You stabbed him in the back," Santana retorted furiously.

Schuester looked away into the darkness. "Think me evil if you will, but there was no difference between Stephen and me. We lived our lives by the sword."

"That's a lie," Santana hissed between clenched teeth.

Schuester merely shrugged indifferently. "He killed in the name of the king. I killed in the name of justice."

"And you call _this _justice?" Santana tried to shrug off his touch, but his fingers only tightened more painfully on her arms. "Chasing me through the woods. Will you stab me in the back, too, and call it justice?"

A hard smile broke over his face. "Others will see it that way after they hear that I have hanged the outlaws who I will say attacked and killed young Pierce and her men…and Clara's only child. There are many in Ninestane Castle who will honestly swear that a foolish lass ran off to meet with her Highland lover."

"Brittany." She gasped. The taste of bile rose into her mouth.

"As we speak, my men are putting your dear Highlanders to the sword. You will be relieved to know, though, that they will die peacefully while they sleep," Schuester said, his voice sickeningly sweet while his eyes shone with a sinister gleam, taking delight in his successful plan.

Santana went wild in his arms, kicking and punching with the fury of a tiger. "I'll kill you with my bare hands if you go close to her. By Saint Adrian's blood, I'll you into pieces and use you for fish bait if you so much as touch her!"

He tried to hold her with his mutilated hand while reaching for his dagger with the other. Santana bit hard on his thumb, and he roared in pain. Angry, he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her backward. Stunned by the force of the blow, Santana fell against a tree, striking her head hard on the knobby trunk.

A million lights exploded in her head, nearly blinding her momentarily, and she felt herself sinking to the ground. The woods whirled crazily. Santana watched helplessly through the haze as the murderer pulled the dagger out of its sheath and took a step toward her.

And suddenly there were torches coming through the trees.

"They were not there, m'lord!"

"Empty rolls of straw and blankets!"

"Not one filthy Highlander anywhere."

The urgent shouts of his men running into sight pulled Schuester's attention away.

"What do you mean, no one there?" he demanded, obviously fighting to keep his voice calm.

"Their horses were still tethered to the trees," the first one answered.

"Don't make a sound." The whisper was so low that Santana thought she had imagined it. As Schuester started shouting orders to his men, she felt strong arms wrap around her waist and drag her slowly backward. She looked over her shoulder and felt her heart soar when she realized it was Brittany.

Schuester turned at that instant, and his angry growl echoed through the woods. "Stop her! Kill her!"

The Lowlanders raced toward them with their swords raised.

Santana watched in amazement as Brittany's men came out of the shadows of the trees like men possessed. The first volley of arrows cut down the first line of Lowlanders, and the rest soon felt the cutting edge of Pierce steel.

Brittany, with a quick glance at Santana, turned murderous eyes on the man who was moving toward them.

"He is the one," Santana managed to whisper, pushing herself upright. "He killed my father." She fought the fog blurring her vision and tried to focus on Brittany as her sword clashed with the murderer's. Sparks flew into the night as the two figures fought blade to blade.

Leaning her weight on the tree, Santana forced herself to her feet. _Don't let her get hurt. Please, God. Don't let any harm come to her._

Blow after blow, the ringing sound of steel filled the glade, but then in horror she saw Brittany trip. With his sword flashing upward in the torchlight, the Lowlander stepped forward to deliver the final blow. With all her strength, Santana pushed away from the tree and threw her weight against Schuester's side. He stumbled forward and fell across Brittany.

Santana watched the Lowlander's body twist sharply when he hit the ground, and then he lay still.

She blinked and looked over at Brittany, who was on one knee, covered with blood.

And then the world went blank.

* * *

From the magnificent view out of the high window, Santana admired the lush and fertile farmlands, the broad expanses of forest, the rocky upland moors surrounding the Border stronghold. She was in Roxburgh Castle, scarcely a two-hour ride from Ninestane and a place where Brittany knew Santana would be safe. Roxburgh belonged to Ambrose Pierce, her uncle, Brittany told her. Santana looked up at the clear blue sky and breathed in the fresh spring air.

"Are ye ready to take yer meal now?"

Santana turned and smiled at the housekeeper, who was ushering a servant with a tray of food into the room

"Ina, you don't need to be serving me like this. I am well enough to come and take my meals with everyone else in the great hall," Santana assured the other woman.

"Well, Mistress Brittany's orders were for ye to follow the abbot's advice and stay in bed this week." The housekeeper started arranging the food on a table near the window. "I let ye out of bed, but ye are weak and need to get yer strength back before she returns."

_Before she returns._

Santana loved the sound of those words. In her mind she saw Brittany, returning from Stichel, where she had taken Lady Clara.

Santana stared at the distant hill. William Schuester was dead. He had died when he had fallen on Brittany's dagger. The same night, Ninestane Castle had come under siege by Brittany and the company of Pierces that she had gathered from Roxburgh Castle. With their leader dead, there had been little resistance. But dealing with Clara had been more difficult. Santana's mother had become wild upon hearing the news. Crazed with grief, she would have jumped from the tower to her death if Brittany had not physically restrained her.

Scotland's Council of Regents, in Berwick for a meeting with English officials, had decided Clara's fate that same week. She was to be sent away where she could bring no harm to anyone and live out the rest of her life in solitude. Clara herself had chosen the convent at Stichel.

Santana had been recovering at Roxburgh through all of this, and her mother refused to see her or talk to her. A stranger seemed to have inhabited Clara's body since Schuester's death. She was a madwoman who claimed that she had never had either a husband or a daughter. But she was at peace with the sentence she had been given. She planned to grieve her dead lover for the rest of her life.

"Now, ye don't want to get me in trouble with that bonny lass by falling ill again, do ye?" Ina asked playfully with a wink.

Santana turned away from the window and smiled at the housekeeper. "She is coming back today, isn't she?"

"That is what I hear." Ina started serving the food.

"She is not giving you any trouble, is she?"

Brittany's voice made Santana cry out in joy. "You are back!"

Brittany opened her arms, and they met in the middle of the room. She whirled Santana about and kissed her before the brunette had a chance to say another word. They had seen each other only in fleeting moments this past week. And Santana could not believe how much she had missed the blonde.

It was a long time before Santana pulled out of Brittany's embrace. She looked around the room and found that Ina had already slipped out.

"Thank you…for everything." Santana hugged her again fiercely.

"Your mother seems comfortably settled in the convent," Brittany replied softly.

"Thank you," Santana whispered sadly. "This is one part of my life that I would like to forget. I don't want to think about my mother's deceit, about her hatefulness. I don't think I ever want to come back to the Borders again."

"I know this might surprise you, considering I am a Highlander, but there is nothing wrong with the Borders." Brittany's hand caressed the brunette's face, and her blue eyes sparkled with that roguish glint that made Santana's heart sing. "What you need is to replace the bad memories with good ones while you are still here."

Santana smiled, remembering their visit to Ravenie Castle and how Brittany had enticed her through it. "Well, I already know you are an expert at that. I don't think I shall ever walk through the gates at Ravenie and not think of you." Santana blushed at the thought of the way Brittany had kissed her there. The blonde had been so patient and supportive throughout that day.

"Perhaps we need to make a pact about this. Whenever one of us is troubled, it shall be the other's duty to bring a smile back. Whenever one is ailing, it shall be the other's responsibility to nurture them back to health. We will make it our calling in life to create those good memories and keep them alive for each other."

Santana's heart began to beat so hard that she thought her chest would burst. "I would like that."

Brittany's face lit up in a brilliant smile. "Perhaps this pact should continue…indefinitely?"

Santana nodded once, twice, and then smiled up at her. A tear escaped, and then another. Suddenly Santana was overwhelmed by the emotions surging within her. She quickly dashed away the tears on her face. "I love you, Brittany. There is nothing that would make me happier than making this pact with you."

The Highlander lifted Santana in her arms and spun her around. "And I love you, my own. Say that you will marry me."

"Aye, Brittany. I will marry you," Santana whispered as Brittany finally came to a stop. The laughter in her dark eyes, however, was replaced with sharp awareness as their gazes locked. "But tell me that I am not dreaming this."

Brittany smiled warmly. "You are not dreaming." She brushed her soft lips against Santana's. "You and I. Together for life. Forever and a day."

Santana wrapped her arms around the blonde's neck and returned her kisses. The happiness coursing through her was beyond anything Santana could have imagined. Then a thought struck her and she drew back a little.

"But what about your parents? Would they mind having their youngest child—"

"They already know. I was ready to pour my heart into your hands before we ever left the Highlands. But quite wisely, they suggested I should wait until your mind was settled about your mother."

Santana couldn't hold back her laugh. "So does this mean that I get to meet the rest of the clan Pierce? I have been hearing from Ina all about your aunts and uncles and cousins—"

Brittany's arms remained wrapped around her as she cut in. "And friends and cousins of friends. And before our wedding, you shall certainly be obliged to meet our neighbors and the neighbors' cousins and friends of the neighbors' cousins."

"'Tis wonderful to have so many people who love and care for you so much that they actually want to meet me," Santana said quietly, still smiling lovingly at the taller girl.

"To be honest, they will all be coming to warn you about the scoundrel that you are marrying," Brittany replied, a teasing glint in her crystal blue eyes.

Santana placed a gentle kiss on her chin. "I'm sure Quinn and Samuel will have more to say on that topic."

"I have an idea," Brittany said suddenly, smiling mischievously.

"What is it," Santana asked, curious to know what was brewing in that beautiful blonde head of hers.

"Before any of them arrive," Brittany began, scooping Santana off the floor with a devilish smile." "Let's elope."

* * *

**A/N: And they lived happily ever after. :) I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the story! **

**And to those of you who also like Faberry and would like to check out my new story _All That's Best_, I hope you enjoy that one too! :D**

**I will "see" you all around, then! Bye! :)**


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